I kissed her colding face and hair,
I kissed her corpse--the bride to be! -
My punishment I cannot bear,
But pray God NOT to pity me.

January 1904.



THE HOUSE OF HOSPITALITIES



Here we broached the Christmas barrel,
Pushed up the charred log-ends;
Here we sang the Christmas carol,
And called in friends.

Time has tired me since we met here
When the folk now dead were young,
Since the viands were outset here
And quaint songs sung.

And the worm has bored the viol
That used to lead the tune,
Rust eaten out the dial
That struck night's noon.

Now no Christmas brings in neighbours,
And the New Year comes unlit;