BROTHER AND SISTER A 'runs of head, that questitig light.
And—was it fancy ?—a faint sigh— I know not what : there leapt the thought, We are old, now—she and I.
Old, though those eager child-clear eyes, And lines of laughter along the cheek, Far less of time than time's despite To one who loves her speak . . .
Besides, those pale and smiling lips, That once with beauty were content, Now wisdom too have learned, and that No dock can circumvent . . .
Nor is this world of ours a toy Which woe should darken when bed-time nears, Still siren-sweet its old decoy And—well, what use in tears ? . .
So limped the brittle argument ; Yet—had I Prospero's wizardry, She should at once have back her youth, Whatever chanced to me. WALTER DE LA MARE.