Classic Poem

Dipsychus

Assuredly, a lively scene!
And, ah, how pleasant, something green!
With circling heavens one perfect rose
Each smoother patch of water glows,
Hence to where, o'er the full tide's face,
We see the Palace and the Place,
And the White dome. Beauteous but hot.
Where in the meantime is the spot,
My favourite, where by masses blue
And white cloud-folds, I follow true
The great Alps, rounding grandly o'er,
Huge arc, to the Dalmatian shore?

Spirit

This rather stupid place to-day,
It's true, is most extremely gay;
And rightly—the Assunzione
Was always a gran' funzione .

Dipsychus

What is this persecuting voice that haunts me?
What? whence? of whom? How am I to detect?
Myself or not myself? My own bad thoughts,
Or some external agency at work,
To lead me who knows whither?

Spirit

Eh?
We're certainly in luck to-day:
What lots of boats before us plying—
Gay parties, singing, shouting, crying,
Saluting others past them flying!
What numbers at the landing lying!
What lots of pretty girls, too, hieing
Hither and thither—coming, going,
And with what satisfaction showing,
To our male eyes unveiled and bare
Their dark exuberance of hair,
Black eyes, rich tints, and sundry graces
Of classic pure Italian faces!

Dipsychus

Off, off! Oh heaven, depart, depart, depart!
Oh me! the toad sly-sitting at Eve's ear
Whispered no dream more poisonous than this!

Spirit

A perfect show of girls I see it is.
Ah, what a charming foot, ye deities!
In that attraction as one fancies
Italy's not so rich as France is;
In Paris—

Dipsychus

Cease, cease, cease!
I will not hear this. Leave me!

Spirit

So!
How do those pretty verses go?
Ah comme je regrette
 Mon bras si dodu,
Ma jambe bien faite
 Et le temps perdu!
 Et le temps perdu!
'Tis here, I see, the custom too
For damsels eager to be lovered
To go about with arms uncovered;
And doubtless there's a special charm
In looking at a well-shaped arm.
In Paris, I was saying—

Dipsychus

Ah me, me!
Clear stars above, thou roseate westward sky,
Take up my being into yours; assume
My sense to own you only; steep my brain
In your essential purity. Or, great Alps,
That wrapping round your heads in solemn clouds
Seem sternly to sweep past our vanities,
Lead me with you—take me away; preserve me!
—Ah, if it must be, look then, foolish eyes—
Listen fond ears; but, oh, poor mind, stand fast!

Spirit

In Paris, at the Opera
In the coulisses —but ah, aha!
There was a glance, I saw you spy it—
So! shall we follow suit and try it?
Pooh! what a goose you are! quick, quick!
This hesitation makes me sick.
You simpleton! what's your alarm?
She'd merely thank you for your arm.

Dipsychus

Sweet thing! ah well! but yet I am not sure.
Ah no. I think she did not mean it. No.

Spirit

Plainly, unless I much mistake,
She likes a something in your make:
She turned her head—another glance—
She really gives you every chance.

Dipsychus

Ah, pretty thing—well, well. Yet should I go?
Alas, I cannot say. What should I do?

Spirit

What should you do? Well, that is funny!
I think you are supplied with money.

Dipsychus

No, no—it may not be. I could, I would—
And yet I would not—cannot. To what end?

Spirit

Trust her for teaching! Go but you,
She'll quickly show you what to do.
Well, well! It's too late now—they're gone;
Some wiser youth is coming on.