Of a Son

A garish room — oil-lamped; a stove's warm blaze;
Gilt chairs drawn up to candles, and green baize:
The doctor hastened in — a moment stayed,
Watching the cards upon the table played —
Club, and sharp diamond, and heart, and spade.
And — still elated — he exclaimed, " Parbleu ,
A thousand pardons, friends, for keeping you;
I feared I'd never see the lady through.
A boy, too! Magnifique the fight she made!
Ah, well, she's happy now! " Said one, " " She"? — who? "
" A woman called Landru. "

Gentle as flutter of dove's wing, the cards
Face downwards fell again; and fever-quick,
Topped by old Time and scythe, a small brass clock
In the brief hush of tongues resumed its tick.
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