| ‘Though logic-choppers rule the town, |
| And every man and maid and boy |
| Has marked a distant object
down, |
| An aimless joy is a pure joy,’ |
| Or so did Tom O’Roughley say |
| That saw the surges running by, |
| ‘And wisdom is a butterfly |
| And not a gloomy bird of prey. |
|
|
|
|
| ‘If little planned is little sinned |
| But little need
the grave distress. |
| What’s dying but a second wind? |
| How but in zig-zag wantonness |
| Could trumpeter
Michael be so brave?’ |
| Or something of that sort he said, |
| ‘And if my dearest friend were dead |
| I’d dance
a measure on his grave.’ |