Ballade Of Suicide, A

The gallows in my garden, people say,     Is new and neat and adequately tall.     I tie the noose on in a knowing way     As one that knots his necktie for a ball;     But just as all the neighbours, on the wall,     Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!"     The strangest whim has seized me.... After all     I think I will not hang myself to-day.     To-morrow is the time I get my pay,     My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall,     I see a little cloud all pink and grey,     Perhaps the rector's mother will not call,     I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall     That mushrooms could be cooked another way,     I never read the works of Juvenal,     I think I will not hang myself to-day.     The world will have another washing day;     The decadents decay; the pedants pall;     And H. G. Wells has found that children play,     And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall;     Rationalists are growing rational,     And through thick woods one finds a stream astray,     So secret that the very sky seems small,     I think I will not hang myself to-day.                      Envoi     Prince, I can hear the trump of Germinal,     The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;     Even to-day your royal head may fall,     I think I will not hang myself to-day.