Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
To His Lady, Philosophy
By John McClure
  The beautiful ladies of old time,
That walked like angels and were as fair,
Are dead and vanished, and no man’s rhyme
Can paint them truly as once they were.
Like pale shadows in moonlight        5
Vanished they are upon strange ways,
Sudden as snow—Villon was right—
The beautiful ladies of old days.
But you stay always, you most dear;
Though the harlots come and the harlots go        10
Walking in pomp and in great show,
Still you are with me, still are here,
More faithful far in a thousand ways
Than the beautiful ladies of old days.
  One thing I know most certainly—
You will not pester me nor chide;
You will not quarrel much, nor be
Unkind, or hasty to deride
When I am stupid with my dreams.
You will not cackle much nor joke        20
When I am dazzled by the gleams
Of fen-fires in a world of smoke,
Or somewhat silly and insane
About the making of a song;
Nor mock me that my face is plain,        25
Nor chide me that I am not strong.
Nay, kinder than a woman is,
You will not mock my vagaries.
  When all my heart is laden down
With worldly worries, worldly fears,        30
You will not pucker-lip nor frown
Nor make me gloomier with tears.
You will not make my sorrow sad
With weeping and with wretchedness
When all the goods I ever had        35
Have vanished in the market’s press.
You will not sob nor make a scene
When I come sadly home at night
To tell you that my hopes have been
Blown and blasted out of sight.        40
We two will light our pipe o’ clay
And laugh and blow the world away.

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