Spleen

Sunday: this satisfied procession


Of definite Sunday faces;


Bonnets, silk hats, and conscious graces


In repetition that displaces


Your mental self-possession


By this unwarranted digression.







Evening, lights, and tea!


Children and cats in the alley;


Dejection unable to rally


Against this dull conspiracy.







And Life, a little bald and gray,


Languid, fastidious, and bland,


Waits, hat and gloves in hand,


Punctilious of tie and suit


(Somewhat impatient of delay)


 On the doorstep of the Absolute.