THE BILLET
63
Because he has received no letter—
Next time the Fates may use him better!
Next time the Fates may use him better!
Then comes an hour beneath a tree,
With "Omar Khayyam" on your knee,
While wanton winds, in idle sport,
Bombard you after harmless sort
With apple blossoms from the bough―
Ah! here is Paradise enow!
With "Omar Khayyam" on your knee,
While wanton winds, in idle sport,
Bombard you after harmless sort
With apple blossoms from the bough―
Ah! here is Paradise enow!
'Tis now that mystic hour of night
When—parcels open—no respite
Is given to cake, sweetmeat, sardine;
Our zest would turn a gourmet green
With envy, could he only see
The meal out here, that's yclept "tea."
When—parcels open—no respite
Is given to cake, sweetmeat, sardine;
Our zest would turn a gourmet green
With envy, could he only see
The meal out here, that's yclept "tea."
The night has come, and all are hearty,
Being exempt from a "working-party":
And so we gather round the fire
To chat, and presently conspire
To pass an hour with song and story—
The grave, the gay, ghostly or gory,—
Being exempt from a "working-party":
And so we gather round the fire
To chat, and presently conspire
To pass an hour with song and story—
The grave, the gay, ghostly or gory,—
