Friend, old friend in the Manse by the fireside sitting,
Hour by hour while the grey ash drips from the log;
St. Giles's street is fair and wide,
St. Giles's street is long;
Down the green hill-side fro' the castle window
Lady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin';
Know you her secret none can utter?
Hers of the Book, the tripled Crown?
Still on the spire the pigeons flutter,
Hush! and again the chatter of the starling
Athwart the lawn!
Lean your head close and closer. O my darling!--
Small is my secret-let it pass-
Small in your life the share I had,
Who sat beside you in the class,
Awed by the bright superior lad:
Behold! I am not one that goes to Lectures or the pow-wow of
The elementary laws never apologise: neither do I apologise.
Of old our City hath renown.
Of God are her foundations,
Do I sleep? Do I dream?
Am I hoaxed by a scout?
Are things what they seem,
Or is Sophists about?