Page:The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson, Vailima Edition, Volume 8, 1922.djvu/582

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NEW POEMS

Get thee behind me, nature!
I turn my back on the sun
And face from the grey new town at the foot of the bay.
I know an amber lady
Who has her abode
At the lips of the street
In prisons of coloured glass.
I had rather die of her love
Than sicken for you, O Nature!
Better be drunk and merry
Than dreaming awake!
Better be Falstaff than Obermann!


CXCV

STORM

THE narrow lanes are vacant and wet;
The rough wind bullies and blusters about the township.
And spins the vane on the tower
And chases the scurrying leaves,
And the straw in the damp innyard.
See—a girl passes
Tripping gingerly over the pools,
And under her lifted dress
I catch the gleam of a comely, stockinged leg.
Pah! the room stifles me,
Reeking of stale tobacco—

With the four black mealy horrible prints

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