24
Poems
And if I should say I do not miss you still,
I should certainly be only feigning.
Our friend of the palette and brush now looks grave;
He is planning, I know, illustrations,
To win first of all, your approval and smile,
And then win the praise of the nations.
Eladio has been for an hour holding forth,—
As often in past times of leisure,—
He claims that the truest philosophy still,
Is the search of that phantom called Pleasure.
I should certainly be only feigning.
Our friend of the palette and brush now looks grave;
He is planning, I know, illustrations,
To win first of all, your approval and smile,
And then win the praise of the nations.
Eladio has been for an hour holding forth,—
As often in past times of leisure,—
He claims that the truest philosophy still,
Is the search of that phantom called Pleasure.
Oh, sip the sweetness of to-day!
Why think of a to-morrow?
Drink deep the draught of love and joy!
A truce to care and sorrow!
Why think of a to-morrow?
Drink deep the draught of love and joy!
A truce to care and sorrow!
If Psyche dies with the first kiss,
Why, drop the brittle creature!
And chase anew those winged flowers,—
The butterflies of nature.
Why, drop the brittle creature!
And chase anew those winged flowers,—
The butterflies of nature.
What path so sweet, as on through life,
Fate forces us to advance,
As that fair way the poets call
The "Primrose path of dalliance."
Fate forces us to advance,
As that fair way the poets call
The "Primrose path of dalliance."
