Classic Poem

I

In some obscure old magic-book
I came on this direction:
Standing before a mirror, look
At your own eyes' reflection.

And if no face but yours appear
Upon the pupil's curtain,
Then to no maiden you are dear,
And you love none, 'tis certain.

But if within your heart the glow
Of passion's hidden fire is,
The maiden's face will surely show
Enshrined within your iris.

To trust in such a trick is naught
But superstitious error,
And yet it came into my thought
One day before a mirror.

I gazed and gazed, and saw therein
My clownish features only;
My faded cheek, my weary grin
Of failure blank and lonely,

The night of grief that overcast
My brow with dark misprision, —
All these I gazed on till at last
I saw them in a vision.

I saw myself and cried out: " Hey!
You daughter of my mother,
You're like a counterfeit display
Of your unhappy brother.

" You have my manner to the life,
As one are we most truly;
Come Self, I'll take you then to wife
And raise a brood unruly: —

" A bloated fry of songs and jokes
And thoughts of knavish rancor,
With humor like to death-knell strokes,
And hope a long-lost anchor! —

" Small cherubs they with clownish mien,
Like to their father only, —
His faded cheek, his weary grin
Of failure blank and lonely.

" And so I'll love myself no doubt,
Since I've no girl to cherish,
Until at last the flame goes out
As coals in ashes perish.

" I am in truth a burnt-out coal
Of hot consuming passion,
I feed the fire with alcohol
In artificial fashion.

" I blaze aloft until my core
Is naught at all but ashes;
I want to leap, I must have more
Than these poor fitful flashes. "

II

And so, with drink o'erladen,
I searched from morn till eve,
Still hoping to achieve
The much-desired maiden.

The " joy-girl's " air appealing,
Professionally wise,
Could not from me disguise
Her actual want of feeling.

And winter-cold as fishes
Fast frozen in the ice,
If any dared entice,
Was she who washed the dishes.

Abashed, I sought the park yet,
Where silken veils were streaming
And summer dresses gleaming
Like flowers in the market;

Where high-born dames a-plenty
Raised o'er their well-shod feet
And insteps fine and neat
Their skirts with manner dainty.

I got for my advances
From those I met and passed,
Half bold and half downcast,
The very sweetest glances.

I followed in the city
The skirt that best revealed
The charms that it concealed
Of limbs and ankles pretty.

The figure flowing over,
As 'twere, with woman's might,
'Twas this would most delight
A poor and needy lover;

The look that freeliest showered
The largest rain of pence
On one, all indigence,
Who by the gutter cowered.

Then shameless as a battered
Old tramp, whose manner says
He has " seen better days, "
I stood, begrimed and tattered

Beside the curbstone. Many
A girl I saw go by,
And tried to catch her eye
While, dumb, I begged a penny.

" Ah, give to a poor devil
A bit of bread to eat,
A little piece of meat,
And he will thank you civil!

" Give him a week in mercy,
A day, or but an hour,
To taste and know love's power.
You won't? Go on, then, curse ye!

" At worst, you still might spare me
One little kiss, to show
A girl once long ago
Was happy to be near me. "

But even she whose favor
Was prodigally shed,
Who gave herself as bread
To any that might crave her,

She shook her head for answer
And said, reluctantly:
" Give something, you, to me,
And then no doubt I can, sir. "

III

But in a window near the City Hall
A caliph's castle built of spice-cake stood,
All roofed with chocolate instead of wood,
And in a shallop just beneath the wall
A sugar prince most delicately played
On a guitar of gilded marchpane made.

Behind the castle was a canvas screen,
And over that, with most disconsolate air,
As if she were the caliph's captive there,
A maiden at a counter might be seen,
Who walked and moved about, the sole defender
Of the great sugar caliph's paper splendor.

Yes, you are like a charming shepherdess
Caught by the caliph to become his slave,
The graceful ways of freedom still you have,
A sort of easy boyish happiness;
And yet your head, so meekly toward me leaning,
Has to my thought a mournful captive's meaning.

There stands within a near-by room
A sofa that I often sit in
To drink my bitter beer with gloom,
And there by throbs of grief I'm smitten
While, with self-scorn made desperate,
I learn the penalty of fate.

And when she sees me there distressed,
A weary, sick and wounded man,
A wanderer from the caravan
Whom robbers fall on and molest,
She plays the good Samaritan
As in the Bible 'tis expressed.
She pours with charity courageous
The balm of laughter all-contagious
And wine of sympathetic glances
On the poor victim of mischances.

Kind maiden, will you still do so?
'Tis well then in your habitation.
I'm thirsty, give me consolation;
To you, kind maiden, will I go.

IV

For the whole girl not a penny,
Not a farthing would I pay,
If her glance would show not any
Smile, but like a foe at bay
She would fight as for her due
And would reckon: " Give me eight now,
That's a sum I won't abate now;
Come, you nice good fellow, you! "

Not a nail, a rag, a button
For the girl I'd offer there,
If in virtuous pride she'd put on
Some dull, prudish, ugly air;
Or her hue with fear would deaden,
Bloodless at the shameful hint,
Till the cheek that once could redden
Lost its lovely tint,
When she heard me tell too truly
My remorse for deeds unruly,
Sins that knew no stint.

When I stammer: " I've been wasting
Myself sick for love's delight,
Liquor too I'm always tasting,
Night and day, and day and night,
In the street I held carousal
Till from many a loose proposal
Women fled in fright, " —
She must blush and be but sad, then,
Must but say: " Well, that's too bad, then,
Are you never really through
With your girl-craze, my nice lad then,
You dear fine good fellow, you! "

V

Overlook the faults of which I've spoken,
Please forget I'm drunk — and bald as well,
Only think that, when a nut is broken,
You may find a kernel in the shell.

Be an odalisque to fit my wishes,
Leaning captive from her balcony;
For the balustrade you have your dishes,
For your marchpane princeling — I am he.

Hear the cither, hear my song of sorrow
Echoing from a far-off fountain clear.
I'm disguised, — these robes I do but borrow; —
Girl, I am not what I now appear,

But a Greek, — if you'd correct your error, —
And Narcissus is the name I owe,
I was self-enamoured in the mirror
Of a shadowy fountain long ago.

This mad love so violently charmed me
That I filled the woods with my lament,
Until Aphrodite's power transformed me
To the wretch on whom your smile is bent.

Yes, you smile, your soul is like my own, dear,
Which would weep, but smiles its grief instead.
Here's the ladder. Quick! let us begone, dear,
In the boat before they guess we're fled.

VI

Be you blest, O tender-hearted maid,
Blest that you forgive me,
And from pain reprieve me,
Though you know the paltry part I've played.

You give sympathy to me, a churl,
Not as one above me,
But as if you love me,
From the breast of a poor sinful girl.

You are wine to make the weak man strong;
Robes to hide his shame in,
Food for him in famine,
When through barren fields he limps along.

VII

But dreams are dreams most surely,
And words are merely air;
You sew away demurely
Beside the counter there,

You watch the people going,
And think mild thoughts no doubt,
While flower-garlands growing
Beneath your hands trail out.

And I take back my homely
Old face into my den,
Where gloomily and dumbly
I scan my face again.
A girl now, to my seeming,
Nods through the pupil's door,
Within the iris gleaming, —
Then straight is seen no more.

But Ego stays the same there,
The I that can not vary,
That no one can displace,
Unless from heaven came there
A kind old-fashioned fairy
To nod and rouse a flame there
By taking your sweet face,
Her cheek with blushes burning,
While with a secret yearning
She longed for my embrace.
But since I'm doomed to grind out
Such lines as these above,
While you are set to find out
Your lifelong path of love, —
My wishes are but phrases
Compared with a caress,
Like flowers without vases,
And words quite meaningless.