A man confusedly in a half dream
As though some other name ran in his head.
As a man does who has published a new book,
Her Praise
Some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there
I will talk no more of books or the long war
Manage the talk until her name come round.
But walk by the dry thorn until I have found
And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook
I have gone about the house, gone up and down
Until her praise should be the uppermost theme,
A woman spoke of some new tale she had read,
If there be rags enough he will know her name
Though she had young mens praise and old mens blame,
Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown,
She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.
SHE is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
And be well pleased remembering it, for in the old days,
