Chapter IV

Text size

“Wifeless, friendless, flagonless, alone,
Not quite bookless, though, unless I choose;
Left with naught to do, except to groan,
Not a soul to woo, except the Muse.
Oh, this is hard for _me_ to bear--
Me who whilom lived so much _en haut_--
Me who broke all hearts like china-ware,
Twenty golden years ago.