Variations of an Air
Old King
Was a merry old
And a merry old soul was
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl and he called for his fiddlers threeafter Lord
Cole, that unwearied prince of Colchester,
Growing more gay with age and with long days Deeper in laughter and desire of life As that Virginian climber on our walls Flames scarlet with the fading of the year;
Called for his wassail and that other weed Virginian also, from the western woods Where English Raleigh checked the boast of Spain,
And lighting joy with joy, and piling up Pleasure as crown for pleasure, bade me bring Those three, the minstrels whose emblazoned coats Shone with the oyster-shells of Colchester;
And these three played, and playing grew more fain Of mirth and music; till the heathen came And the King slept beside the northern sea. after W.
B.
Of an old King in a story From the grey sea-folk I have heard Whose heart was no more broken Than the wings of a bird.
As soon as the moon was silver And the thin stars began,
He took his pipe and his tankard,
Like an old peasant man.
And three tall shadows were with him And came at his command;
And played before him for ever The fiddles of fairyland.
And he died in the young summer Of the world's desire;
Before our hearts were broken Like sticks in a fire. after Walt
Me clairvoyant,
Me conscious of you, old camarado,
Needing no telescope, lorgnette, field-glass, opera-glass, myopic pince-nez,
Me piercing two thousand years with eye naked and not ashamed;
The crown cannot hide you from me,
Musty old feudal-heraldic trappings cannot hide you from me,
I perceive that you drink. (I am drinking with you.
I am as drunk as you are.) I see you are inhaling tobacco, puffing, smoking, spitting (I do not object to your spitting),
You prophetic of American largeness,
You anticipating the broad masculine manners of these States;
I see in you also there are movements, tremors, tears, desire for the melodious,
I salute your three violinists, endlessly making vibrations,
Rigid, relentless, capable of going on for ever;
They play my accompaniment; but I shall take no notice of any accompaniment;
I myself am a complete orchestra.
So long.
Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Impetuously I sprang from bed, Long before lunch was up, That I might drain the dizzy dew From the day's first golden cup In swift devouring ecstasy Each toil in turn was done; I had done lying on the lawn Three minutes after one
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St George he was for England, And before he killed the dragon He drank a pint of English ale Out of an English flagon For though he fast right readily In hair-shirt or in mail, It isn't safe to give him cakes Unless you give him ale
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O learned man who never learned to learn, Save to deduce, by timid steps and small, From towering smoke that fire can never burn And from tall tales that men were never tall Say, have you thought what manner of man it is Of who men ...
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There fared a mother driven Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was All men are at home
