Its power is shatter'd, and its wall decays,
The last true Mandarin's strangled; hands profane
Already are put forth to share the spoil;
Soon the Sun's realm will be a legend vain,
An idle tale incredible to sense;
The world is gray in gray--we've flung the soil
On buried Faery,--then where can Love be found?
Alas, Love also is departed hence!
[Lifts his cup.
Well let him go, since so the times decree;--
A health to Amor, late of Earth,--in tea!
[He drains his cup; indignant murmurs amongst
the company.

MISS JAY.
A very odd expression! "Dead" indeed!

THE LADIES.
To say that Love is dead--!

STRAWMAN.
Why, here you see
Him sitting, rosy, round and sound, at tea,
In all conditions! Here in her sable weed
The widow--

MISS JAY.
Here a couple, true and tried,--

STIVER.
With many ample pledges fortified.

GULDSTAD.
The Love's light cavalry, of maid and man,
The plighted pairs in order--

STRAWMAN.
In the van
The veterans, whose troth has laughed to scorn
The tooth of Time--

MISS JAY [hastily interrupting].
And then the babes new-born--
The little novices of yester-morn--

STRAWMAN.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, in a word,
Are here; the truth is patent, past all doubt,
It can be clutched and handled, seen and heard,--

FALK.
What then?

MISS JAY.
And yet you want to thrust it out!

FALK.
Madam, you quite mistake. In all I spoke
I cast no doubt on anything you claim;
But I would fain remind you that, from smoke,
We cannot logically argue flame.
That men are married, and have children, I
Have no desire whatever to deny;
Nor do I dream of doubting that such things
Are in the world as troth and wedding-rings;
The billets-doux some tender hands indite
And seal with pairs of turtle doves that--fight;
That sweethearts swarm in cottage and in hall,
That chocolate reward the wedding call;
That usage and convention have decreed,
In every point, how "Lovers" shall proceed:--
But, heavens! We've majors also by the score,
Arsenals heaped with muniments of war,
With spurs and howitzers and drums and shot,
But what does that permit us to infer?
That we have men who dangle swords, but not
That they will wield the weapons that they wear.
Tho' all the plain with gleaming tents you crowd,
Does that make heroes of the men they shroud?

STRAWMAN.
Well,