- Your seamanship is very neat
You scan the clouds, as if you knew,
Your language nautical, complete;
There's nothing left for me to do.
And while you give the wheel a twist
I gladly leave the rest to fate
And contemplate
The aged sybil in your eyes
At the four crossroads of the world
Whose oracle replies: -
"These problems seem importunate
But after all do not exist."
Between the theoretic seas
And your assuring certainties
I have my fears:
- I am off for some Hesperides
Of street pianos and small beers!
First Caprice in North Cambridge
A street- piano, garrulous and frail;
The yellow evening flung against the panes
Of dirty windows: and the distant strains
Of children's voices, ended in a wail.
Bottles and broken glass,
Trampled mud and grass;
A heap of broken barrows;
And a crowd of tattered sparrows
Delve in the gutter with sordid patience.
Oh, these minor considerations! . . . ..
