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Sicilian suns had laid a dower of light and life about her：
Her beauty was a gracious flower … the heart fell dead without her。
‘‘Ah； Galat？'' said Polypheme； ‘‘I would that I could find thee
Some finest tone of hill or stream； wherewith to lull and bind thee！
‘‘What lyre is left of marvellous range； whose subtle strings； containing
Some note supreme； might catch and change； or set thy passion waning？ …
‘‘Thy passion for the fair…haired youth whose fleet； light feet perplex me
By ledges rude； on paths uncouth； and broken ways that vex me？
Page： 198
Ah； turn to me！ else violent sleep shall track the cunning lover；
And thou wilt wait and thou wilt weep when I his haunts discover。''
But golden Galatea laughed； and Th魋a's son； like thunder；
Broke through a rifty runnel shaft； and dashed its rocks asunder；
And poised the bulk； and hurled the stone； and crushed the hidden Acis；
And struck with sorrow drear and lone the sweetest of all faces。
To Zeus； the mighty Father； she； with plaint and prayer； departed：
Then from fierce 苩na to the sea a fountained water started …
Page： 199
A lucent stream of lutes and lights … cool haunt of flower and feather；
Whose silver days and yellow nights made years of hallowed weather。
Here Galatea used to come； and rest beside the river；
Because； in faint； soft； blowing foam； her shepherd lived for ever。
Page： 200
BLACK KATE
Kate； they say； is seventeen …
Do not count her sweet； you know。
Arms of her are rather lean …
Ditto； calves and feet； you know。
Features of Hellenic type
Are not patent here； you see。
Katie loves a black clay pipe …
Doesn't hate her beer； you see。
Spartan Helen used to wear
Tresses in a plait； perhaps：
Kate has ochre in her hair …
Nose is rather flat； perhaps。
Page： 201
Rose Lorraine's surpassing dress
Glitters at the ball； you see：
Daughter of the wilderness
Has no dress at all； you see。
Laura's lovers every day
In sweet verse embody her：
Katie's have a different way；
Being frank； they ‘‘waddy'' her。
Amy by her suitor kissed；
Every nightfall looks for him：
Kitty's sweetheart isn't missed …
Kitty ‘‘humps'' and cooks for him。
Smith； and Brown； and Jenkins； bring
Roses to the fair； you know。
Darkies at their Katie fling
Hunks of native bear； you know。
Page： 202
English girls examine well
All the food they take； you twig：
Kate is hardly keen of smell …
Kate will eat a snake； you twig。
Yonder lady's sitting room …
Clean and cool and dark it is：
Kitty's chamber needs no broom …
Just a sheet of bark it is。
You may find a pipe or two
If you poke and grope about：
Not a bit of starch or blue …
Not a sign of soap about。
Girl I know reads Lalla Rookh …
Poem of the ‘‘heady'' sort：
Kate is better as a cook
Of the rough and ready sort。
Page： 203
Byron's verse on Waterloo；
Makes my darling glad； you see：
Kate prefers a kangaroo …
Which is very sad； you see。
Other ladies wear a hat
Fit to write a sonnet on：
Kitty has … the naughty cat …
Neither hat nor bonnet on！
Fifty silks has Madame Tate …
She who loves to spank it on：
All her clothes are worn by Kate
When she has her blanket on。
Let her rip！ the Phrygian boy
Bolted with a brighter one；
And the girl who ruined Troy
Was a rather whiter one。
Page： 204
Katie's mouth is hardly Greek …
Hardly like a rose it is：
Katie's nose is not antique …
Not the classic nose it is。
Dryad in the grand old day；
Though she walked the woods about；
Didn't smoke a penny clay …
Didn't ‘‘hump'' her goods about。
Daphne by the fairy lake；
Far away from din and all；
Never ate a yard of snake；
Head and tail and skin and all。
Page： 205
A HYDE PARK LARRIKIN
Note：To the servants of God that are to be found in every denomination；
these verses； of course； do not apply
You may have heard of Proclus； sir；
If you have been a reader；
And you may know a bit of her
Who helped the Lycian leader。
I have my doubts … the head you ‘‘sport''
（Now mark me； don't get crusty）
Is hardly of the classic sort …
Your lore； I think； is fusty。
Page： 206
Most likely you have stuck to tracts
Flushed through with flaming curses …
I judge you； neighbour； by your acts …
So don't you dn my verses。
But to my theme。 The Asian sage；
Whose name above I mention；
Lived in the pitchy Pagan age；
A life without pretension。
He may have worshipped gods like Zeus；
And termed old Dis a master；
But then he had a strong excuse …
He never heard a pastor。
However； it occurs to me
That； had he cut Demeter
And followed you； or followed me；
He wouldn't have been sweeter。
Page： 207
No doubt with ‘‘shepherds'' of this time
He's not the ‘‘clean potato''；
Because … excuse me for my rhyme …
He pinned his faith to Plato。
But these are facts you can't deny；
My pastor； smudged and sooty；
His mind was like a summer sky …
He lived a life of beauty …
To lift his brothers' thoughts above
This earth he used to labour：
His heart was luminous with love …
He didn't wound his neighbour。
To him all men were just the same …
He never foamed at altars；
Although he lived ere Moody came …
Ere Sankey dealt in psalters。
Page： 208
The Lycian sage； my ‘‘reverend'' sir；
Had not your chances ample；
But； after all； I must prefer
His perfect； pure example。
You； having read the Holy Writ …
The Book the angels foster …
Say have you helped us on a bit；
You overfed impostor？
What have you done to edify；
You clammy chapel tinker？
What act like his of days gone by …
The grand old Asian thinker？
Is there no deed of yours at all
With beauty shining through it？
Ah； no！ your heart reveals its gall
On every side I view it。
Page： 209
A blatant bigot with a big
Fat heavy fetid carcass；
You well become your greasy ‘‘rig'' …
You're not a second Arcas。
What sort of ‘‘gospel'' do you preach？
What ‘‘Bible'' is your Bible？
There's worse than wormwood in your speech；
You livid； living libel！
How many lives are growing gray
Through your depraved behaviour！
I tell you plainly … every day
You crucify the Saviour！
Some evil spirit curses you …
Your actions never vary：
You cannot point your finger to
One fact to the contrary。
Page： 210
You seem to have a wicked joy
In your malicious labour；
Endeavouring daily to destroy
The neighbour's love for neighbour。
The brutal curses you eject
Make strong men dread to hear you。
The world outside your petty sect
Feels sick when it is near you。
No man who shuns that little hole
You call your tabernacle
Can have； you shriek； a ransomed soul …
He wears the devil's shackle。
And； hence the ‘‘Papist'' by your clan
Is dogged with words inhuman；
Because he loves that friend of man
The highest type of woman …
Page： 211
Because he has that faith which sees
Before the high Creator
A Virgin pleading on her knees …
A shining Mediator！
God help the souls who grope in night …
Who in your ways have trusted！
I've said enough！ the more I write；
The more I feel disgusted。
The warm； soft air is tainted through
With your pernicious leaven。
I would not live one hour with you
In your peculiar heaven！
Now mount your musty pulpit … thump；
And muddle flat clodhoppers；
And let some long…eared booby ‘‘hump''
The plate about for coppers。
Page： 212
At priest and parson spit and bark；
And shake your ‘‘church'' with curses；
You bitter blackguard of the dark …
With this I close my verses。
Page： 213
NAMES UPON A STONE
（INSCRIBED TO G。L。FAGAN； ESQ。）
ACROSS bleak widths of broken sea
A fierce north…easter breaks；
And makes a thunder on the lea …
A whiteness of the lakes。
Here； while beyond the rainy stream