Confessions.
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. What is he buzzing in my ears?“Now that I come to die,Do I view the world as a vale of tears?”Ah, reverend sir, not I! 2. What I viewed there once, what I view againWhere the physic bottles standOn the table’s edge,--is a suburb lane,With a wall to my bedside hand. 3. That lane sloped, much as the bottles do,From a house you could descryO’er the garden-wall: is the curtain blueOr green to a healthy eye? 4. To mine, it serves for the old June weatherBlue above lane and wall;And that farthest bottle labelled “Ether”Is the house o’er-topping all. 5. At a terrace, somewhat near the stopper,There watched for me, one June,A girl: I know, sir, it’s improper,My poor mind’s out of tune. 6. Only, there was a way. . .you creptClose by the side, to dodgeEyes in the house, two eyes except:They styled their house “The Lodge”. 7. What right had a lounger up their lane?But, by creeping very close,With the good wall’s help,--their eyes might strainAnd stretch themselves to Oes, 8. Yet never catch her and me together,As she left the attic, there,By the rim of the bottle labelled “Ether”,And stole from stair to stair, 9. And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas,We loved, sir--used to meet:How sad and bad and mad it was--But then, how it was sweet!
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