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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415708" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In a 'Bus</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(A SPRING CONTRAST.)<br>A quarter of a century agone,<br>Just such a face as this upon me shone,<br>And in a 'bus too;<br>And then, as now, it was the warm springtide;<br>And then, as now, there was no soul inside<br>Excepting us two.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are the same blue eyes, the delicate nose.<br>Same rosebud mouth, and cheeks of blushful rose,<br>Same chin bewitching;<br>Same throat of sheeny white and perfect mould,<br>Same light-brown hair, with scattered threads of gold<br>The brown enriching.<br>Ah! how this present beauty's counterpart<br>Woke instant tumult in my fluttering heart—<br>Pain, pleasure, blended!<br>Yet this one is as beautiful as that . .<br>Dear me! why don't my heart go pit-a-pat<br>Now, as it then did?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One glance of those bright eyes, and all was o'er:<br>I wished to die; at least I cared no more<br>For life without her:—<br>These, glancing on me now, are quite as fair;<br>Yet, strange to say, I do not seem to care<br>One bit about her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wished I were a glove upon that hand—<br>The eardrop in her ear, the zone that spanned<br>Her waist so trimly;<br>And now, in view of equal charms, the bliss<br>Of such astounding metamorphosis<br>I see but dimly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well I recall the mad desire to hear<br>Her name who turned the common atmosphere<br>To heavenly ether:—<br>Why is it that I do not now, as then,<br>Care twopence if the name be M. or N.,<br>Or both, or neither?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well I remember how I longed to pay<br>Her fare, or in some other lordly way<br> <br>Impress her duly:—<br>Why is it, then, though not less generous grown,<br>I'm better pleased this nymph should pay her own<br>Than mulct “yours truly”?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And how quick-soaring hope as quickly fell<br>When I descried a military swell<br>Her brooch portrayed in;<br>Why is it, then, 'twould leave me undistressed<br>If a whole regiment adorned the breast<br>Of this fair maiden?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And how my anguish, when she drew her glove,<br>And showed the plain gold sign of wedded love,<br>Refused assuagement:—<br>Why is it that I do not care a jot<br>If this one wears such fateful ring, or not—<br>Plain, or engagement?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it because my taste hath changed its style,<br>And now prefers, in place of Venus' smile,<br>The frown of Pallas?<br>Ah no: Minerva, too, has lost her sway;<br>I met her antitype this very day,<br>And felt quite callous.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it the climate? Ah, if vernal airs<br>Incline the heart to amorous affairs,<br>This Austral season<br>Should stir in every vein, when beauty's by,<br>The throb of lusty youth! Oh no; the cli-<br>mate's not the reason.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it the place! Still, no; this threepenny 'bus<br>Is much the same as rolled the twain of us<br>Through Piccadilly;<br>And fitter place, when all is said and done,<br>There could not be for “bussing.” (Pass the pun;<br>I know it's silly.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it that I have learned their sweetest smiles<br>And airs and graces are but “wanton wiles,”<br>And mere pretences?<br>Or is it that the naked eye of youth<br>Sees all through glamour, while I see the truth<br>Through convex lenses?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But wherefore beat about the bush, old man?<br>You know that you can give, if any can,<br>Reasons in plenty.<br> <br>Must I, then, own it?.. 'Tis—because—because—<br>I am not quite—not quite—the man I was<br>At five-and-twenty!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An empty socket shows where passion burned;<br>My sense of beauty now, alas, has turned<br>Pure intellectual,<br>And to arouse a tumult in the brain,<br>Or thrill the system with delicious pain,<br>Quite ineffectual.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, I may gaze on her, and gaze my fill. . . .<br>D'ye know, I think I'm somewhat human still;<br>I like her, rather;<br>But oh, how things are changed from what they were!<br>For all she is so fair, I feel to her<br>Just like a father.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She dowers me with a smile from lip and eye,<br>And while I wonder what she meaneth by<br>The sweet bestowment,<br>“Please pass my fare,” comes from her beauteous lips,<br>And, as I take the coin, our finger tips<br>Meet for a moment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A thrill! A thrill! I do declare, a thrill!<br>Upon my honour, I believe I'm still<br>Intensely human!<br>I pause and ponder what I mean to do.<br>Methinks I'd better scuttle home unto<br>My own old woman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Brunton+Stephens">James Brunton Stephens</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415708" data-title="In a 'Bus de James Brunton Stephens" data-description="(A SPRING CONTRAST.)
A quarter of a century agone,
Just such a face as this upon me shone,
And in a 'bus too;
And then, as now, it was the warm springtide;
And then, as now, there was no soul inside
Excepting us two.

There are the same blue eyes,..."></div>
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