Poem by Frederick Locker-Lampson

Old Letters

    “Fragile creations of still frailer man,
          That men outlast,
    Though to eternity, from whence he came,
          The scribe be past.

    O there are tongues within these dry brown leaves
          That speak as Autumns do;
    They cry of death and sorrow,
          To me—to you.”

    Mr George Thornbury.

Old letters! wipe away the tear,
   And gaze upon these pale mementoes,
A pilgrim finds his journal here
   Since first he took to walk on ten toes.

Yes, here are scrawls from Clapham Rise,
   Do mothers still their school-boys pamper?
O, how I hated Doctor Wise!
   O, how I lov’d a well-fill’d hamper!

How strange to commune with the Dead—
   Dead joys, dead loves, and wishes thwarted:
Here’s cruel proof of friendships fled,
   And sad enough of friends departed.

And here’s the offer that I wrote
   In ’33 to Lucy Diver;
And here John Wylie’s begging note—
   He never paid me back a stiver.

And here my feud with Major Spike,
   Our bet about the French Invasion;
On looking back I acted like
   A donkey upon that occasion.

And here a letter from “the Row,”—
   How mad I was when first I learnt it!
They would not take my Book, and now
   I’d give a trifle to have burnt it.

And here a heap of notes, at last,
   With “love” and “dove,” and “sever” “never”—
Though hope, though passion may be past,
   Their perfume is as sweet as ever.

A human heart should beat for two,
   Whatever say your single scorners,
And all the hearths I ever knew
   Had got a pair of chimney corners.

See here a double violet—
   Two locks of hair—a deal of scandal:
I’ll burn what only brings regret—
   Go, Betty, fetch a lighted candle.

1. The Widow’s Mite
2. The Castle in the Air
3. The Pilgrims of Pall Mall
4. The Old Clerk
5. My Life Is A—

Norman Gale Old Letters ("LAST night some yellow letters fell")

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