l it said, said all it meant,
And every Minister of State
Was guileless--as a candidate.

Statesmen no more the tinker's way
Mended and patched from day to day,
Content with piecing part with part,
But took the mighty problem whole,
Beginning with the human heart:
For noble rulers make in vain
Unselfish laws for selfish men,
And give the whole wide world its vote,
But who is going to give it soul?

And then I dreamed had come to reign
True peace within our land again;
Not peace that rots the soul with ease,
Or those ignoble 'rivalries
Of peace' more murderous than war,
But just the simple peasant peace
The weary world is waiting for.
With simple food and simple wear
Go lots of love and little care,
And joy is saved from over-sweet
By struggle not too hard to bear.

So dreamed I on from dream to dream,
Till, slow returning to my theme,
Upon my vote I looked again--
To whom was I to give it then?
That uncorrupted maidenhood,
My little power for public good.
What party was there that I knew
That I might dare intrust it to,
A perfect party fair and square--
My House of Commons in the air?

Though called by many different names,
Each one professed the noblest aims;
Should all be right, 'twas logical
That I should give my vote to all!

And then, of parties old and new
Which one, if only one, were true?

The divination passed my skill,--
My maiden vote is maiden still.

THE ANIMALCULE ON MAN

An animalcule in my blood
Rose up against me as I dreamed,
He was so tiny as he stood,
You had not heard him, though he screamed.

He cried 'There is no Man!'
And thumped the table with his fist,
Then died--his day was scarce a span,--
That microscopic atheist.

Yet all the while his little soul
Within what he denied did live,--
Poor part, how could he know the whole?
And yet he was so positive!

And all the while he thus blasphemed
My (solar) system went its round,
My heart beat on, my head still dreamed,--
But my poor atheist was drowned.

COME, MY CELIA

Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we may, how wise is love--
Love grown old and grey with years,
Love whose blood is thinned with tears.

Philosophic lover I,
Broke my heart, its love run dry,
And I warble passion's words
But to hear them sing like birds.

When the lightning struck my side,
Love shrieked and for ever died,
Leaving nought of him behind
But these playthings of the mind.

Now the real play is