I’D read three hours. Both notes and text | |
| Were fast a mist becoming; | |
| In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed, | |
| And filled the room with humming. | |
| |
| Then out. The casement’s leafage sways, | 5 |
| And, parted light, discloses | |
| Miss Di., with hat and book,—a maze | |
| Of muslin mixed with roses. | |
| |
| “You’re reading Greek?” “I am—and you?” | |
| “O, mine’s a mere romancer!” | 10 |
| “So Plato is.” “Then read him—do; | |
| And I’ll read mine in answer.” | |
| |
| I read. “My Plato (Plato, too,— | |
| That wisdom thus should harden!) | |
| Declares ‘blue eyes look doubly blue | 15 |
| Beneath a Dolly Varden.’” | |
| |
| She smiled. “My book in turn avers | |
| (No author’s name is stated) | |
| That sometimes those Philosophers | |
| Are sadly mistranslated.” | 20 |
| |
| “But hear,—the next’s in stronger style: | |
| The Cynic School asserted | |
| That two red lips which part and smile | |
| May not be controverted!” | |
| |
| She smiled once more—“My book, I find, | 25 |
| Observes some modern doctors | |
| Would make the Cynics out a kind | |
| Of album-verse concoctors.” | |
| |
| Then I—“Why not? ‘Ephesian law, | |
| No less than time’s tradition, | 30 |
| Enjoined fair speech on all who saw | |
| DIANA’S apparition.’” | |
| |
| She blushed—this time. “If Plato’s page | |
| No wiser precept teaches, | |
| Then I’d renounce that doubtful sage, | 35 |
| And walk to Burnham-beeches.” | |
| |
| “Agreed,” I said. “For Socrates | |
| (I find he too is talking) | |
| Thinks Learning can’t remain at ease | |
| While Beauty goes a-walking.” | 40 |
| |
| She read no more. I leapt the sill: | |
| The sequel’s scarce essential— | |
| Nay, more than this, I hold it still | |
| Profoundly confidential. | |
| |
