od upon earth;
Their watchword is _NIL ADMIRARI_,
They are bored from the days of their birth.
Where the life that we led was a revel
They 'wince and relent and refrain' --
I could show them the road -- to the devil,
Were I only a youngster again.

I could show them the road where the stumps are
The pleasures that end in remorse,
And the game where the Devil's three trumps are,
The woman, the card, and the horse.
Shall the blind lead the blind -- shall the sower
Of wind reap the storm as of yore?
Though they get to their goal somewhat slower,
They march where we hurried before.

For the world never learns -- just as we did,
They gallantly go to their fate,
Unheeded all warnings, unheeded
The maxims of elders sedate.
As the husbandman, patiently toiling,
Draws a harvest each year from the soil,
So the fools grow afresh for the spoiling,
And a new crop of thieves for the spoil.

But a truce to this dull moralising,
Let them drink while the drops are of gold,
I have tasted the dregs -- 'twere surprising
Were the new wine to me like the old;
And I weary for lack of employment
In idleness day after day,
For the key to the door of enjoyment
Is Youth -- and I've thrown it away.

A Bunch of Roses

Roses ruddy and roses white,
What are the joys that my heart discloses?
Sitting alone in the fading light
Memories come to me here to-night
With the wonderful scent of the big red roses.

Memories come as the daylight fades
Down on the hearth where the firelight dozes;
Flicker and flutter the lights and shades,
And I see the face of a queen of maids
Whose memory comes with the scent of roses.

Visions arise of a scene of mirth,
And a ball-room belle that superbly poses --
A queenly woman of queenly worth,
And I am the happiest man on earth
With a single flower from a bunch of roses.

Only her memory lives to-night --
God in His wisdom her young life closes;
Over her grave may the turf be light,
Cover her coffin with roses white --
She was always fond of the big white roses.

. . . . .

Such are the visions that fade away --
Man proposes and God disposes;
Look in the glass and I see to-day
Only an old man, worn and grey,
Bending his head to a bunch of roses.

Black Swans

As I l