_En l’an trentiesme de mon aage
Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beues..._
Pipit sate upright in her chair
Some distance from where I was sitting;
_Views of the Oxford Colleges_
Lay on the table with the knitting.
Daguerrotypes and silhouettes,
Her grandfather and great great aunts,
Supported on the mantelpiece
An _Invitation to the Dance_.
* * * * *
I shall not want Honour in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney
And have talk with Coriolanus
And other heroes of that kidney.
I shall not want Capital in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond:
We two shall lie together, lapt
In a five per cent Exchequer Bond.
I shall not want Society in Heaven
Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride;
Her anecdotes will be more amusing
Than Pipit’s experience could provide.
I shall not want Pipit in Heaven:
Madame Blavatsky will instruct me
In the seven Sacred Trances;
Piccarda de’ Donati will conduct me....
* * * * *
But where is the penny world I bought
To eat with Pipit behind the screen?
The red-eyed scavengers are creeping
From Kentish Town and Golder’s Green;
Where are the eagles and the trumpets?
Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.
Over buttered scones and crumpets
Weeping, weeping multitudes
Droop in a hundred A. B. C.’s.