What's O'Clock/Preface to an Occasion
PREFACE TO AN OCCASION
How witless to assail the carven halls Of memory! To climb the high stone steps, Picking a foothold through the crisp, dry leaves Whirled in the corners, crunching under foot Those scattered in the centre, to clap at doors With battered hauberk, till some seneschal, Drowsy with om and oversleeping, creaks Them open an inhospitable inch, And, grumbling, lets himself be pushed aside By a determined entrance! Where's the sense Of striding by tarnished furniture from one Mournful deserted chamber to another, Seeking for roses in a vase of dust, For tapestries where rusty armour hangs, For blithe allurement under spider-spun Ceilings corroded to a dripping ash? What can you find here? A little powdered dust To pinch up with your finger and your thumb And fasten in a knotted handkerchief! Look from the window, Friend, the sky is blue, The leafless trees blow to a merry wind, Your horse is tethered at the stairway's foot, He twitches at the skipping of the leaves. Pocket your handkerchief and ride away. Was the trip worth while? I'll wager guinea gold Within a week you'll wish you had not come, And send your handkerchief knotted to the wash. Life's the great cynic, and there's an end of that.