To Edward Fitzgerald

(MARCH 31ST, 1909)         'Tis a sad fate             To watch the world fighting,         All that is most fair             Ruthlessly blighting,                 Blighting, ah! blighting.         When such a thought cometh             Let us not pine,         But gather old friends             Round the red wine--                 Oh! pour the red wine!         And there we'll talk             And warm our wits         With Eastern fallacies             Out of old Fitz!                 British old Fitz!         See him, half statesman--             Philosopher too--         Half ancient mariner             In baggy blue--                 Such baggy blue!         Whimsical, wistful,             Haughty, forsooth:         Indolent always, yet             Ardent in truth,                 But indolent, indolent!         There at the table             With us sits he,         Charming us subtly             To reverie,                 Magic reverie.         "How sweet is summer's breath,             How sure and swift is death;         Nought wise on earth, save             What the wine whispereth,                 Dreamily whispereth.         "At Nashapr beneath the sun,         Or here in misty Babylon,         Drink! for the rose leaves while you linger         Are falling, ever falling, one by one."         Ah! poet's soul, once more with us conspire         To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire,         Once more with us to-night, old Fitz, once more         Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!