De Profundis

Oh, is it, then, Utopian
To hope that I may meet a man
Who’ll not relate, in accents suave,
The tales of girls he used to have?

They Part

And if, my friend, you’d have it end,
There’s naught to hear or tell.
But need you try to black my eye
In wishing me farewell?

Though I admit an edgèd wit
In woe is warranted.
May I be frank?... Such words as “——”
Are better left unsaid.

There’s rosemary for you and me;
But is it usual, dear.
To hire a man, and fill a van
By way of souvenir?