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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DRAMA OF THE DOCTOR'S WINDOW, by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Well, I must wait!' the doctor's room Last Line: And e'en 'the lancet' lighter. Alternate Author Name(s): Dobson, Austin | |||
IN THREE ACTS, WITH A PROLOGUE 'A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.' -- MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM PROLOGUE 'WELL, I must wait!' The Doctor's room Where I used this expression, Wore the severe official gloom Attached to that profession; Rendered severer by a bald And skinless Gladiator, Whose raw robustness first appalled The entering spectator. No one would call 'The Lancet' gay, -- Few could avoid confessing That Jones, 'On Muscular Decay,' Is -- as a rule -- depressing: So, leaving both, to change the scene, I turned toward the shutter, And peered out vacantly between A water-butt and gutter. Below, the Doctor's garden lay, If thus imagination May dignify a square of clay Unused to vegetation, Filled with a dismal-looking swing -- That brought to mind a gallows -- An empty kennel, mouldering, And two dyspeptic aloes. No sparrow chirped, no daisy sprung, About the place deserted; Only across the swing-board hung A battered doll, inverted, Which sadly seemed to disconcert The vagrant cat that scanned it, Sniffed doubtfully around the skirt, But failed to understand it. A dreary spot! And yet, I own, Half hoping that, perchance, it Might, in some unknown way, atone For Jones and for 'The Lancet,' I watched; and by especial grace, Within this stage contracted, Saw presently before my face A classic story acted. Ah, World of ours, are you so grey And weary, World, of spinning, That you repeat the tales to-day You told at the beginning? For lo! the same old myths that made The early 'stage successes,' Still 'hold the boards,' and still are played, 'With new effects and dresses.' Small, lonely 'three-pair-backs' behold, To-day, Alcestis dying; To-day, in farthest Polar cold, Ulysses' bones are lying; Still in one's morning 'Times' one reads How fell an Indian Hector; Still clubs discuss Achilles' steeds, Briseis' next protector; -- Still Menelaus brings, we see, His oft-remanded case on; Still somewhere sad Hypsipyle Bewails a faithless Jason; And here, the Doctor's sill beside, Do I not now discover A Thisbe, whom the walls divide From Pyramus, her lover? ACT THE FIRST. Act I. began. Some noise had scared The cat, that like an arrow Shot up the wall and disappeared; And then, across the narrow, Unweeded path, a small dark thing, Hid by a garden-bonnet, Passed wearily towards the swing, Paused, turned, and climbed upon it. A child of five, with eyes that were At least a decade older, A mournful mouth, and tangled hair Flung careless round her shoulder, Dressed in a stiff ill-fitting frock, Whose black, uncomely rigour Sardonically seemed to mock The plaintive, slender figure. What was it? Something in the dress That told the girl unmothered; Or was it that the merciless Black garb of mourning smothered Life and all light: -- but rocking so, In the dull garden-corner, The lonely swinger seemed to grow More piteous and forlorner. Then, as I looked, across the wall Of 'next-door's' garden, that is -- To speak correctly -- through its tall Surmounting fence of lattice, Peeped a boy's face, with curling hair, Ripe lips, half drawn asunder, And round, bright eyes, that wore a stare Of frankest childish wonder. Rounder they grew by slow degrees, Until the swinger, swerving, Made, all at once, alive to these Intentest orbs observing, Gave just one brief, half-uttered cry, And, -- as with gathered kirtle, Nymphs fly from Pan's head suddenly Thrust through the budding myrtle, -- Fled in dismay. A moment's space, The eyes looked almost tragic; Then, when they caught my watching face, Vanished as if by magic; And, like some sombre thing beguiled To strange, unwonted laughter, The gloomy garden, having smiled, Became the gloomier after. ACT THE SECOND. Yes: they were gone, the stage was bare, -- Blank as before; and therefore, Sinking within the patient's chair, Half vexed, I knew not wherefore, I dozed; till, startled by some call, A glance sufficed to show me, The boy again above the wall, The girl erect below me. The boy, it seemed, to add a force To words found unavailing, Had pushed a striped and spotted horse Half through the blistered paling, Where now it stuck, stiff-legged and straight, While he, in exultation, Chattered some half-articulate Excited explanation. Meanwhile, the girl, with upturned face, Stood motionless, and listened; The ill-cut frock had gained a grace, The pale hair almost glistened; The figure looked alert and bright, Buoyant as though some power Had lifted it, as rain at night Uplifts a drooping flower. The eyes had lost their listless way, -- The old life, tired and faded, Had slipped down with the doll that lay Before her feet, degraded; She only, yearning upward, found In those bright eyes above her The ghost of some enchanted ground Where even Nurse would love her. Ah, tyrant Time! you hold the book, We, sick and sad, begin it; You close it fast, if we but look Pleased for a meagre minute; You closed it now, for, out of sight Some warning finger beckoned; Exeunt both to left and right; -- Thus ended Act the Second. ACT THE THIRD. Or so it proved. For while I still Believed them gone for ever, Half raised above the window sill, I saw the lattice quiver; And lo, once more appeared the head, Flushed, while the round mouth pouted; 'Give Tom a kiss,' the red lips said, In style the most undoubted. The girl came back without a thought; Dear Muse of Mayfair, pardon, If more restraint had not been taught In this neglected garden; For these your code was all too stiff, So, seeing none dissented, Their unfeigned faces met as if Manners were not invented. Then on the scene, -- by happy fate, When lip from lip had parted, And, therefore, just two seconds late, -- A sharp-faced nurse-maid darted; Swooped on the boy, as swoops a kite Upon a rover chicken, And bore him sourly off, despite His well-directed kicking. The girl stood silent, with a look Too subtle to unravel, Then, with a sudden gesture took The torn doll from the gravel; Hid the whole face, with one caress, Under the garden-bonnet, And, passing in, I saw her press Kiss after kiss upon it. Exeunt omnes. End of play. It made the dull room brighter, The Gladiator almost gay, And e'en 'The Lancet' lighter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GAGE D'AMOUR by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON A GARDEN SONG by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON ARS VICTRIX (IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE GAUTIER) by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON BEFORE SEDAN by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON DORA VERSUS ROSE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON GROWING GRAY by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW; IN MEMORIAM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON IN AFTER DAYS; RONDEAU by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON WHEN THERE IS PEACE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |
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