The Song Book of Quong Lee of Limehouse [2]
Tail, Very amiable to the eye.
In a recess of my heart Is a poor street hung with lanterns. These lanterns are my thoughts, And they are lighted at the last hours of the evenings, When through this street Walks the willowy maiden from the tea-shop across the road.
One Service Breeds Another
One of this person's white-skinned friends, Bill Hawkins, Who labours at the waterside, Had occasion, at the time of unkind weather, To rescue from the certain peril of drowning One who had slipped from the edge of a wharf to the dock.
Without reward the flower serves the bee. The mother serves the child with pain and toil. The soldier serves his king without king's gratitutde. And this person has noted with much private amusement, How, since this one service rendered, Bill Hawkins goes ever from his accustomed path To add service to service to the one he rescued; While the rescued one looks ever upon Bill Hawkins With eyes of no-approval, indeed, with intense disgust.
An Offer of a Lodging
Little maid of the yellow curls You look sad as you pass my window. You look as though you would like to creep into some warm nest, And hide your golden head.
Oh, look, little maid! I have made you a nest! Creep into it, and I will hide you away, Quietly, in the nest of my heart, I will wrap you around with verses and cover you with fair thoughts.
There is yet one little corner left, Free from the world's defilement; One little corner where not a breath of wrong Shall enter to disturb your slumbering. And I will cherish you there In the nest you will make so pure. I will hold you and guard you safe from the snares of the stony streets. Be at peace, little maid, and lie in trust; For though my feet may stumble, and I may fall, The corner that houses you I will ever keep whole.
Of Two Dwellings
At the lower end of Limehouse Causeway Is a house where girls surrender their bodies To the pleasures of base-minded and unpolished men, In return for shillings. And on the walls about this house Blossoms at summer the wild white rose.
In a tiny room at the top of a tenement Lives a white maid of surpassing virtue, Gentle in manner and quiet and dutiful, Combing her golden curls each morning Before a window that looks out to hell; That looks upon cesspools of mud, and mounds of refuse and the offal of the shops.
Concerning English Gambling
One morning, at the season of Clear Weather, As I sat alone in my Tea-House of the Refined White Lily, A stranger of affable address approached me, And showed me, with a multitude of argument, To what advantage I should come Were I to place the whole of my substance with him, Even to my shirt, As a token of my faith in Ice Cream Cornet for the Lincolnshire.
And because I would not do so, He withdrew himself from me as from one of mean birth and behaviour, Reviling me with the name of "No-Sport," And other characters of opprobrium.
But this person told him That he carried always on written leaves The words of his august father, Concerning horses and women, and the wind in the hills and the hooting of owls.
He did not tell him that he knew full well That Ice Cream Cornet was a non-starter for the Lincolnshire.
Of Politicians
Upon a time the amiable Bill Hawkins Married a fair wife, demure and of chaste repute, Keeping closely from her, however, Any knowledge of the manner of man he had been.
Upon the nuptial night, Awaking and finding himself couched with a woman, As had happened on divers occasions, He arose, and dressed and departed, Leaving at the couch's side four goodly coins.
But in the street, Remembering the occasion and his present estate of marriage, He returned with a haste of no-dignity, Filled with emotions of an entirely disturbing nature, Fear that his wife should discover his absence And place evil construction upon it, Being uppermost.
Entering stealthily, then, with the toes of the leopard, With intention of quickly disrobing, And rejoining the forsaken bride, He perceived her sitting erect on the couch, Biting shrewdly, with a
In a recess of my heart Is a poor street hung with lanterns. These lanterns are my thoughts, And they are lighted at the last hours of the evenings, When through this street Walks the willowy maiden from the tea-shop across the road.
One Service Breeds Another
One of this person's white-skinned friends, Bill Hawkins, Who labours at the waterside, Had occasion, at the time of unkind weather, To rescue from the certain peril of drowning One who had slipped from the edge of a wharf to the dock.
Without reward the flower serves the bee. The mother serves the child with pain and toil. The soldier serves his king without king's gratitutde. And this person has noted with much private amusement, How, since this one service rendered, Bill Hawkins goes ever from his accustomed path To add service to service to the one he rescued; While the rescued one looks ever upon Bill Hawkins With eyes of no-approval, indeed, with intense disgust.
An Offer of a Lodging
Little maid of the yellow curls You look sad as you pass my window. You look as though you would like to creep into some warm nest, And hide your golden head.
Oh, look, little maid! I have made you a nest! Creep into it, and I will hide you away, Quietly, in the nest of my heart, I will wrap you around with verses and cover you with fair thoughts.
There is yet one little corner left, Free from the world's defilement; One little corner where not a breath of wrong Shall enter to disturb your slumbering. And I will cherish you there In the nest you will make so pure. I will hold you and guard you safe from the snares of the stony streets. Be at peace, little maid, and lie in trust; For though my feet may stumble, and I may fall, The corner that houses you I will ever keep whole.
Of Two Dwellings
At the lower end of Limehouse Causeway Is a house where girls surrender their bodies To the pleasures of base-minded and unpolished men, In return for shillings. And on the walls about this house Blossoms at summer the wild white rose.
In a tiny room at the top of a tenement Lives a white maid of surpassing virtue, Gentle in manner and quiet and dutiful, Combing her golden curls each morning Before a window that looks out to hell; That looks upon cesspools of mud, and mounds of refuse and the offal of the shops.
Concerning English Gambling
One morning, at the season of Clear Weather, As I sat alone in my Tea-House of the Refined White Lily, A stranger of affable address approached me, And showed me, with a multitude of argument, To what advantage I should come Were I to place the whole of my substance with him, Even to my shirt, As a token of my faith in Ice Cream Cornet for the Lincolnshire.
And because I would not do so, He withdrew himself from me as from one of mean birth and behaviour, Reviling me with the name of "No-Sport," And other characters of opprobrium.
But this person told him That he carried always on written leaves The words of his august father, Concerning horses and women, and the wind in the hills and the hooting of owls.
He did not tell him that he knew full well That Ice Cream Cornet was a non-starter for the Lincolnshire.
Of Politicians
Upon a time the amiable Bill Hawkins Married a fair wife, demure and of chaste repute, Keeping closely from her, however, Any knowledge of the manner of man he had been.
Upon the nuptial night, Awaking and finding himself couched with a woman, As had happened on divers occasions, He arose, and dressed and departed, Leaving at the couch's side four goodly coins.
But in the street, Remembering the occasion and his present estate of marriage, He returned with a haste of no-dignity, Filled with emotions of an entirely disturbing nature, Fear that his wife should discover his absence And place evil construction upon it, Being uppermost.
Entering stealthily, then, with the toes of the leopard, With intention of quickly disrobing, And rejoining the forsaken bride, He perceived her sitting erect on the couch, Biting shrewdly, with a