Then writes upon Simplicity so well
  That none agree on what he wants to tell,
  And future ages will declare his pen
  Inspired by gods with messages to men. 
  To found an ancient order those devote
  Their time—­with ritual, regalia, goat,
  Blankets for tossing, chairs of little ease
  And all the modern inconveniences;
  These, saner, frown upon unmeaning rites
  And go to church for rational delights. 
  So all are suited, shallow and profound,
  The prophets prosper and the world goes round. 
  For me—­unread in the occult, I’m fain
  To damn all mysteries alike as vain,
  Spurn the obscure and base my faith upon
  The Revelations of the good St. John.

  1897.

NANINE.

  We heard a song-bird trilling—­
    ’T was but a night ago. 
  Such rapture he was rilling
    As only we could know.

  This morning he is flinging
    His music from the tree,
  But something in the singing
    Is not the same to me.

  His inspiration fails him,
    Or he has lost his skill. 
  Nanine, Nanine, what ails him
    That he should sing so ill?

  Nanine is not replying—­
    She hears no earthly song. 
  The sun and bird are lying
   And the night is, O, so long!

TECHNOLOGY.

  ’Twas a serious person with locks of gray
    And a figure like a crescent;
  His gravity, clearly, had come to stay,
    But his smile was evanescent.

  He stood and conversed with a neighbor, and
    With (likewise) a high falsetto;
  And he stabbed his forefinger into his hand
    As if it had been a stiletto.

  His words, like the notes of a tenor drum,
    Came out of his head unblended,
  And the wonderful altitude of some
    Was exceptionally splendid.

  While executing a shake of the head,
    With the hand, as it were, of a master,
  This agonizing old gentleman said: 
    “’Twas a truly sad disaster!

  “Four hundred and ten longs and shorts in all,
    Went down”—­he paused and snuffled. 
  A single tear was observed to fall,
    And the old man’s drum was muffled.

  “A very calamitous year,” he said. 
    And again his head-piece hoary
  He shook, and another pearl he shed,
    As if he wept con amore.

  “O lacrymose person,” I cried, “pray why
    Should these failures so affect you? 
  With speculators in stocks no eye
    That’s normal would ever connect you.”

  He focused his orbs upon mine and smiled
    In a sinister sort of manner. 
  “Young man,” he said, “your words are wild: 
    I spoke of the steamship ‘Hanner.’

  “For she has went down in a howlin’ squall,
    And my heart is nigh to breakin’—­
  Four hundred and ten longs and shorts in all
    Will never need undertakin’!