Classic Poem

(To A. L.)

The shopman shambled from the doorway out
And twitched it down —
Snapped in the blade! 'Twas scarcely dear, I doubt,
At half-a-crown.

Useless enough! And yet can still be seen,
In letters clear,
Traced on the metal's rusty damaskeen —
" Povr Paruenyr . "

Whose was it once? — Who manned it once in hope
His fate to gain?
Who was it dreamed his oyster-world should ope
To this — in vain?

Maybe with some stout Argonaut it sailed
The Western Seas;
Maybe but to some paltry Nym availed
For toasting cheese!

Or decked by Beauty on some morning lawn
With silken knot,
Perchance, ere night, for Church and King 'twas drawn —
Perchance 'twas not!

Who knows — or cares? To-day, 'mid foils and gloves
Its hilt depends,
Flanked by the favours of forgotten loves, —
Remembered friends; —

And oft its legend lends, in hours of stress,
A word to aid;
Or like a warning comes, in puffed success,
Its broken blade.