had declared a convocation
At a well-located hotel
here upon a certain date.
Time for another poem. A recent ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
selenite post reminded me of this, but, although I have read a lot of Kipling, I had not run across this until Lois Bujold mentioned it on the LMB list a while ago. Can't say I buy into the rationale, but it is a comfortable shoe.
( The Sons Of Martha )
Allingham's The Fairy Folk.
Now the ghostly alttachial wight
Would translocate more swiftly than light.
It, starting by day,
In its relative way,
Had arrived on the previous night.
Not that the original is at all inferior. I have a minor bias against limericks that make use of proper names. But often, I suppose, that use was the intent. Well, my intent differs.
From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.
Now---for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart---
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.
Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.
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