No.12

WHERE OR WHEN
Lorenz Hart 1896-1943

When you're awake, the things you think
Come from the dream you dream
Thought has wings, and lots of things
Are seldom what they seem.

Sometimes you think you’ve lived before
All that you live today,
Things you do come back to you
As though they knew the way -
Oh, the tricks your mind can play.

It seems we stood and talked like this before,
We looked at each other in the same way then
But I can't remember where or when,

The clothes you're wearing are the close you wore,
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I can't remember where or when.

Some things that happen for the first time
Seem to be happening again,
And so it seems that we have met before
And laughed before and loved before,
But who knows where or when.

-o0o-

 TWO LOVERS
George Eliot 1819-80

Two lovers by a moss-grown spring:
They leaned soft cheeks together there,
Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!

Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carolings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent:
Two hands above the head were locked:
These pressed each other while they rocked,
Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!

Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees
Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!

The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees
Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!

The red light shone upon the floor
And made the space between them wide;
They drew their chairs up side by side,
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!

-o0o-

IF YOU’LL PARDON MY SAYING SO
Warren Hastings and Herberte Jordan

A lady to see you, Mr. Archibald, sir.
The matter appears to be pressing.
Luncheon was served quite an hour ago,
I didn’t awaken you, sir, as you know,
There are times, sir, when sleep is a blessing.
I have here some ice, sir, to put on your head,
And also a whisky and “polly,“
I don't know what time you retired to bed,
But the party sir, must have been jolly -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

The lady in question a-waiting below,
Is accompanied, sir, by her mother,
And also a prize-fighting gentleman, sir,
A pugnacious character one might infer,
Whom the lady describes as her brother.
The elderly female is quite commonplace,
A most vulgar person, I fear, sir,
Who shouts in a nerve-wracking falsetto voice,
And her language is painful to hear, sir -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

The prize-fighter person is burning with hate.
He refers to you, sir, as a “twister“,
He threatens to alter the shape of your “clock,”
To break you in half, sir, and knock off your “block”
Unless you do right by his sister.
The young lady says, sir, with trembling lips,
That you made her a promise of marriage.
She wants to know why she should eat fish and chips,
While you, sir, ride by in your carriage -
If you'll pardon me saying so.

Sir John has a dreadful attack of the gout,
He is fuming to beat all creation.
My lady, your mother, is up in the air.
She’s having hysterics and tearing her hair,
And borders on nervous prostration.
Would you wish me to pack your portmanteau at once,
And look up the times of the trains, sir?
Or perhaps you would rather I brought you a drink,
And a pistol to blow out your brains, sir -
If you'll pardon my saying so.

-o0o-

MY PRETTY ROSE TREE
William Blake 1757-1827

A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said, "I've a pretty rose tree,"

And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

-o0o-