POETRY
WHEN we have mourned the little lease Of fame before decay
The memory of a Pitt, a Peace So soon must pass away-- The full.peruques of famous dukes Live only for a day.
Have we not, half-deluded, known The grasp of Time relax Along the road to Marylebone Where Death was dodged in wax So fair, so bright, so cheap despite The Entertainments Tax ?
In the high creeper on the brick The sparrows chirped and flew Beyond the gateway was the pick Of those Immortal few (Nelson or Grace) in clothes, in face Almost as good as new.
Here Wolsey of the ambitious mind, Here round about King John For ever furious as he signed The ageless barons shone,
Here lovers met, and gazed with wet - Eyes at Napoleon.
This was the acid test of fame The single gauge of what On English bosoms held some claim When triflers were forgot,
The indulgent Town half-gods may crown Madame Tussaud did not.
No finely-domed memorial Could England's pulses feel Like that so deathless-seeming hall Where Cranmer, Mace, and Peel, Where Palmer stood, and the hungry could Sit down to a nice meal.
And now—shall Bronze and Marble lie And Truth be forced to burn Where lingers then Celebrity ?
Who knows, beyond the urn, What memory lives (in minds like sieves) If wax be not eterne 2
E. V. KNOX.
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