74 STEVENSON'S POEMS
Thoughts ? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to
Trammelled so vilely in verse; He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and
his butter, Won with a groan and a curse.
LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE
LONG time I lay in little ease Where, placed by the Turanian,
Marseilles, the many-masted, sees The blue Mediterranean.
Now songful in the hour of sport,
Now riotous for wages, She camps around her ancient port,
As ancient of the ages.
Algerian airs through all the place
Unconquerably sally; Incomparable women pace
The shadows of the alley.
And high o'er dark and graving yard
And where the sky is paler, The golden virgin of the guard
Shines, beckoning the sailor.