[_The Daisy_ and _The Crossing_, which both dealt with the
life after death, have come to an untimely end; and, in
deference to public feeling, the heroine of _Every Woman's
Privilege_ has been furnished with a fresh _fiancé_.]
When in my stall at eve I sit
(And these remarks would still apply,
Perhaps with greater force, were I
Accommodated in the Pit)--
Worn with the long day's dusty strife,
I ask a brief surcease of gloom;
I want a mirror held to life,
But not the life beyond the tomb.
The views of parties who have "crossed"
(Meaning to Jordan's further shore),
Those, as they say, who've "gone before,"
But not (unhappily) been "lost"--
They make me ill; they decompose
My vital essence at its fount
(Excepting BARRIE'S _Mary Rose_,
But then, of course, he doesn't count).
Give me the life that quick men lead,
Of which I know the hopes and fears
Better than those of shadier spheres;
And, if at first you don't succeed,
If you should hear the critics croak,
"As to your heroine's choice, you err,"
Just hand her to the other bloke--
That's what they did with MARIE LÖHR.
So shall creative art suggest
A world where people may revise
Their silly past, and realise
Those second thoughts which are the best;
Where, having seen the larger light,
A perfect liberty to hedge
And swap the wrong man for the right
Is "Every Woman's Privilege."