_Tout_ [Picture: Decorative graphic] _Soullas_
_par_
_A BALLADE OF XXXII BALLADES_.
_Friend_, _when you bear a care-dulled eye_,
_And brow perplexed with things of weight_,
_And fain would bid some charm untie_
_The bonds that hold you all too strait_,
_Behold a solace to your fate_,
_Wrapped in this cover’s china blue_;
_These ballades fresh and delicate_,
_This dainty troop of Thirty-two_!
_The mind_, _unwearied_, _longs to fly_
_And commune with the wise and great_;
_But that same ether_, _rare and high_,
_Which glorifies its worthy mate_,
_To breath forspent is disparate_:
_Laughing and light and airy-new_
_These come to tickle the dull pate_,
_This dainty troop of Thirty-two_.
_Most welcome then_, _when you and I_,
_Forestalling days for mirth too late_,
_To quips and cranks and fantasy_
_Some choice half-hour dedicate_,
_They weave their dance with measured rate_
_Of rhymes enlinked in order due_,
_Till frowns relax and cares abate_,
_This dainty troop of Thirty-two_.