Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . hin my mew, A-painting for the great man, saints and saints And saints again. I could not paint all night— Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air. There came a hurry of feet and little feet, A sweep of lute-strings, laughs, and whifts of song,— Flower d the broom. Take away love, and our earth is a tomb ! Flower d the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good s in life since ? Flower d the thyme—and so on. Round they went. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter. Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight,—three slim shapes—And
Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . hin my mew, A-painting for the great man, saints and saints And saints again. I could not paint all night— Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air. There came a hurry of feet and little feet, A sweep of lute-strings, laughs, and whifts of song,— Flower d the broom. Take away love, and our earth is a tomb ! Flower d the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good s in life since ? Flower d the thyme—and so on. Round they went. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter. Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight,—three slim shapes—And a face that looked up . . zooks, sir, flesh and blood,Thats all I m made of! Into .shreds it went,Curtain and counterpane and the bed furniture—a dozen knots,There was a ladder! down I let and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped,And after them. I came up with the funHard by St. Laurence, hail fellow, well met,—Flower d the rose. If I ve been merry, what matter who knows ?And so as I was stealing back again 156. r- < 1 FRA LIPPO LIPPI To get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up to-morrow and go work On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh, You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see ! Though your eye twinkles still, you shake your head— Mines shaved,—a monk, you say—the stings in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself. Mum s the word naturally ; but a monk ! Come, what am I a beast for ? tell us, now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. I starved there, God knows how, a year or two On fig-skins, melon-parings, rinds and shucks, Refuse and rubbish. One fine frosty day My stomach being empty as your hat, The wind doubled me up and down I went. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand, (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall, over the bridge. By the straight cut to the convent. Six words, there, While I stood munching
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Keywords: ., bookauthorgarnettr, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1904
