A DIALOGUE FROM PLATO by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON

'Le temps le mieux employe est celui qu'on perd.' -- CLAUDE TILLIER.

I'D 'read' three hours. Both notes and text
Were fast a mist becoming;
In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed,
And filled the room with humming,

Then out. The casement's leafage sways,
And, parted light, discloses
Miss Di., with hat and book, -- a maze
Of muslin mixed with roses.

'You're reading Greek?' 'I am -- and you?'
'O, mine's a mere romancer!'
'So Plato is.' 'Then read him -- do;
And I'll read mine in answer.'

I read. 'My Plato (Plato, too, --
That wisdom thus should harden!)
Declares "blue eyes look doubly blue
Beneath a Dolly Varden."'

She smiled. 'My book in turn avers
(No author's name is stated)
That sometimes those Philosophers
Are sadly mis-translated.'

'But hear, -- the next's in stronger style:
The Cynic School asserted
That two red lips which part and smile
May not be controverted!'

She smiled once more -- 'My book, I find,
Observes some modern doctors
Would make the Cynics out a kind
Of album-verse concoctors.'

Then I -- 'Why not? "Ephesian law,
No less than time's tradition,
Enjoined fair speech on all who saw
DIANA'S apparition."'

She blushed -- this time. 'If Plato's page
No wiser precept teaches,
Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage,
And walk to Burnham-beeches.'

'Agreed', I said. 'For Socrates
(I find he too is talking)
Thinks Learning can't remain at ease
While Beauty goes a-walking.'

She read no more. I leapt the sill:
The sequel's scarce essential --
Nay, more than this, I hold it still
Profoundly confidential.

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