Will You Love Me Then?

There’s a new chap born in the world to-day, And an axe laid close to the root of doubt, When I hear you speak in that soulful way Of a love to last till the stars go out—— But, Mignonette! Will you love me yet When the duns come in? ... ’Tis an even bet.

Ah! I try to think, as I feel your breath, Like a perfume thrown from a Glory rose, That our path will lead (as the poet saith) In a pleasant field, where the wild thyme blows—— But, wife of mine! Will your star still shine When he’s loaded down to the Plimsoll line?

Oh, I like you thus, with your nut-brown hair In a wilderness, as I saw you first; And I love you much as a man may dare Who is torn asunder ’twixt love and thirst—— Pray tell me, dear! Will the wind-vane veer When I hang my pants on the chandelier?

And will Passion’s flower still bloom as red,— Will you shrink right over against the wall,— When I tumble into the nuptial bed With my harness on, and my boots and all? Will you have resource To a plain divorce When I smell of hops like a brewer’s horse?

Will your faith still shine when the world grows grey? When the Autumn comes, will your heart grow sere? Will you wear the smile that you wear to-day When you wear the hat that you wore last year? Girl, keep your vow! Things will shape somehow— And we’ll take our toll from the lap of Now!

[Decoration: Gold mining camp]

DIFFERENCES.

Different men have different ways, Different crooks have different lays, Different girls wear different stays.

It’s just according to how you’re built Whether you sing a dirge, or lilt, Laugh, or cry, when the milk is spilt.

Different dogs have different yaps, Different tarts have different chaps, Different bees fill different caps.

The bloke who missed is a carper—hence We find him sitting astride a fence, Cursing like hell as a recompense.

Different hounds have different bays, Different nags have different neighs, Different priests have different prays.

Who’d have a world that was uniform Timing its pulse to a damning norm? Give me the varying calm and storm.

Different hooks have different eyes, Different cooks make different pies, Different stamps have different dies.

Little it matters, my friend! to you, Though arms are clinging, or hearts are true, Or gold be clotted around the shoe.

Different grocers use different sand— That is the game that you understand! Here is a genuine, good right hand.

Bring me a tangle of fairish dope To widen a rhymer’s mental scope, And I’ll write an ode to a bar of soap!

[Decoration: Black swan]