Pieces People Ask For/Love and Philosophy

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'Twas a maiden full of knowledge,
Though she'd scarcely passed eighteen;
She was lovely as an angel,
Though of grave and sober mien;

A sweet encyclopædia
Of every kind of lore;
And love looked coyly from behind
The glasses that she wore.

She sat beside her lover,
With her elbow on his knee,
And dreamily she gazed upon
The slumbering summer sea.

Until he broke the silence,
Saying, "Pray inform me, dear,
What people mean when speaking
Of the Thingness of the Here.

"I know you're just from Concord,
Where the lights of wisdom be;
Your head crammed full to bursting, love,
With their philosophy,—

"Those grave and reverend sages,
And maids of hosiery blue.
Then solve me the conundrum, dear,
That I have put to you."

The maid replied with gravity,—
"The Thingness of the Here
Is that which lies between the past
And future time, my dear.

"Indeed," the maid continued, with
A calm, unruffled brow,
"The Thingness of the Here is just
The Thisness of the Now."

The lover smiled a loving smile,
And then he fondly placed
A manly and protecting arm
Around the maiden's waist;

And on her rosebud lips impressed
A warm and loving kiss,
And said, "That's what I call, my dear,
The Nowness of the This."

Geo. Runde Jackson.