To His Lady, Philosophy / John McClure

To His Lady Philosophy
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I

The beautiful ladies of old time, That walked like angels and were as fair, Are dead and vanished, and no man’s rhyme Can paint them truly as once they were. Like pale shadows in moonlight Vanished they are upon strange ways, Sudden as snow—Villon was right— The beautiful ladies of old days. But you stay always, you most dear; Though the harlots come and the harlots go Walking in pomp and in great show, Still you are with me, still are here, More faithful far in a thousand ways Than the beautiful ladies of old days. II

One thing I know most certainly — You will not pester me nor chide; You will not quarrel much, nor be Unkind, or hasty to deride When I am stupid with my dreams. You will not cackle much nor joke When I am dazzled by the gleams Of fen-fires in a world of smoke, Or somewhat silly and insane About the making of a song; Nor mock me that my face is plain, Nor chide me that I am not strong. Nay, kinder than a woman is, You will not mock my vagaries. III When all my heart is laden down With worldly worries, worldly fears, You will not pucker-lip nor frown Nor make me gloomier with tears. You will not make my sorrow sad With weeping and with wretchedness When all the goods I ever had Have vanished in the market’s press. You will not sob nor make a scene When I come sadly home at night To tell you that my hopes have been Blown and blasted out of sight. We two will light our pipe o’ clay And laugh and blow the world away.