They met in a cake-shop hard by the Strand,

He in black broadcloth, and she in silk.

She had a glass of "fizz" in her hand,

He had a bun and a cup of milk.

She had a sunshade of burnished crimson,

He had a brolly imperfectly furled,

And a pair of pince-nez with tortoiseshell rims on.

He looked the Church, and she seemed the World.

They sat on each side of a marble table,

His legs were curled round the legs of his chair.

Around them babbled a miniature Babel;

The sunlight gleamed on her coppery hair.

She held a crumpled Academy Guide,

Scored with crosses in bold blacklead;

A pile of leaflets lay at his side,

And he grasped a Report, which he gravely read.

His shaven lip was pendulous, long,

Her mouth was a cherry-hued moue mutine,

His complacent, uncomely, strong,

Hers soft appetence sharpened with spleen.

Her eyes scale-glitter, his oyster-dim,

His huge mouth hardened, her small lips curled

As he gazed at her and she glanced at him;

He looked the Church, and she seemed the World.

"A holy spouter from Exeter Hall!"

(So she mused as she sipped her wine.)

"A butterfly in the Belial thrall

Of Vanity Fair, all tinkle and shine!"

So thought he as he crumbled his bun

With clumsy fingers in loose black cloth;

And the impish spirit of genial fun

Hovered about them and mocked them both.

Mutual ignorance, mutual scorn,

Revealed in glances aflame though fleeting;

Such, in the glow of this glad May morn,

The inhuman spirit of mortal meeting.

The worm must disparage the butterfly,

The butterfly must despise the worm;

And Scorn, the purblind, will ne'er descry

A common bond, or a middle term.

Modish folly, factitious Art?

True, grave homilist, sadly true!

But Boanerges truculent, tart,

What of the part that is played by you?

You denouncing the "Snare of Beauty,"

She affecting to feel its spell,—

Which falls shortest of human duty?

Shallow censor, can you quite tell?

Meanwhile the lilac is blithely budding,

And sweetly breatheth the nutty May,

The golden sunshine the earth is flooding,

And you—you echo the old, old bray

Of Boanerges. A broader greeting

Of brotherhood full, warm hearts, wide eyes

Might lend a meaning to your "May Meeting"

To gladden the gentle and win the wise.