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 CITY LIFE 
 
 A MASK OF SONNETS 
 
CITY LIFE 
 
 A MASK OF SONNETS 
 
 ONE LAST WORD 
 
 TO MY HARVARD COLLEGE CLASSMATES 
 
 LIVING AT COMMENCEMENT 
 
 1864—1914 
 
 >0t^ BXAc/f 
 
 
 GEORGE WINSLOW PIERCE 
 

 ^<c? ^< 
 
 Copyright 1914 
 
 George Winslow Pierce 
 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 /^ 
 
 JUN 17 is;! 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/citylifeOOpier 
 
CITY LIFE 
 
 A MASK OF SONNETS 
 
 TO MY READING LAMP 
 
 CONSPICUOUS type of geometric form 
 Whose sides are trapezoids in number five 
 And bulk a frustum would be, while alive 
 Still close beside it tries this struggling worm 
 To read the daily news of calm or storm 
 
 And monthly magazines, the human hive 
 From all about inviting him to dive 
 Where perjuries are helps and hates survive?! — 
 
 Through thee competing is there not a path 
 To lead this quiv^ering flybait to the sun, 
 
 To his lost product yet an aftermath 
 
 Before his ultra seventy day is done. 
 
 Beside his dreary, blank, unheated hearth 
 No glory, story, PERSiflage, nor fun? 
 
TO MY LANDLADY 
 
 WHOSE name is Myriad and wbqse fame is mud. 
 Before the devil took thee twice to wive 
 And left superior sweethearts' halves alive 
 And non-protestants blasted in the bud 
 How gott'st thy shelter and tridaily food, 
 
 And by what treacheries didst then contrive 
 And with thy calculating friends connive 
 To place a monthly balance to the good ? 
 
 Whose weekly kindness would withdraw a cold 
 Potato from a frowsy beggar's store, 
 
 And hast a countenance ten times as bold. 
 Compelled like Oliver to ask for more; 
 
 Thy thefts re-stored in trunks, thy gas, thy heat. 
 
 Distort our features, warming not our feet. 
 
 TO INVENTION 
 
 PURPOSE of Genius, from composite air 
 Or water gliding towards a deeper goal. 
 Or fired worthless sediment, prepare 
 To save my semblance from its last despair. 
 Its nose of early Grecian and red hair; 
 
 To do the world a favor and submit 
 Thyself to competition for the dime. 
 
 Crown earthly hope for good, prove we are IT, 
 Fill the serene unconscious, stand sublime, — 
 Plus Ultra, naming the frontier of Time! 
 
 O ne'er o'erladen mother, wilt thou be. 
 
 And canst, significance to my nots and me. 
 
 By safe investment rich and bargain fair? 
 
 Disclose thy Monday Plaisance, When and Where! 
 
TO AN OLD WOMAN 
 
 1 LOVED thee, sweetheart, when the joy of hfe 
 Illumined both our smiles in mothers' arms, 
 When aunts-in-law had answered, George's Wife, 
 And granddads recognized thy opening charms; 
 I loved thee for thy quick responses then 
 Before and moreish than all other men. 
 
 Thy prize papa was rich as ours was poor. 
 
 And small resemblance 'twixt his house and your. 
 
 If which too previous for a sonnet is 
 
 Expunge the syllables that scan amiss; 
 
 My heavenly theme requireth perfect art. 
 The sense connecting where the verSets part: 
 
 Each eight matched lines this sexplet serial viz 
 
 Whose fives that fit must rhyme with self and heart. 
 
 TO THE SAME 
 
 I loved thee, sweetheart, when a virgin's truth 
 
 With one false kiss thou scatteredst to the world, 
 A worldly choice for which a cent is twirled 
 
 Without a thought or one last word of ruth; 
 
 An unknown, seen or heard, and older youth. 
 Thy rightful blush bediamonded and pearled 
 With all its banners to the day unfurled 
 
 And thirty thousand silver coins, forsooth. 
 
 In seven short years preferred my rival's line 
 His thirty thousand showed the minus sign 
 
 And his small stature standing towards the sky 
 Had turned the angle right to underlie 
 And left an heir to share my flattering sigh. 
 Uncertain if her heart thrice won was mine. 
 
TO THE SAME 
 
 I loved thee, sweetheart, when advancing age 
 
 And long delay had dulled my manhood's prime, 
 Unwilling thus — to give thee back to Time, 
 
 To sealed forever the path-blotted page 
 
 With tears indeed, how quick enough with rage 
 And all my own or half another's blood 
 Had I been licensed to draw the sword 
 
 Or turn the rifle on my cross engage. 
 
 In this perpetual, anteborn defeat 
 
 Which must have fallen from the Heights Above, 
 Wherewith all contradiction seems to meet. 
 
 Above all others Whether God is Love, 
 If I can have of all success but one 
 Unmask the Sonnet; give me yet a SON ! 
 
 If I wander never mind me; 
 
 Where you left me shall you find me 
 
 Peeping still before, behind me 
 
 At my dreary chamber door. 
 Lost in love, in life defeated, 
 But content if not conceited 
 With a whispered, oft repeated 
 
 Something I have said before: 
 
 With a softly whispered something. 
 Something, something, something, something. 
 Something, something, something, something. 
 
 Something I have said before. 
 Nothing much. Excuse the sonnet, 
 
 Nothing much — and nothing more.