1 Ay, lay him ’neath the Simla pine— A fortnight fully to be missed, Behold, we lose our fourth at whist, A chair is vacant where we dine. 2 His place forgets him; other men Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps. His fortune is the Great Perhaps And that cool rest-house down the glen, 3 Whence he shall hear, as spirits may, Our mundane revel on the height, Shall watch each flashing ’rickshaw-light Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play. 4 Benmore shall woo him to the ball With lighted rooms and braying band; And he shall hear and understand “Dream Faces” better than us all. 5 For, think you, as the vapours flee Across Sanjaolie after rain, His soul may climb the hill again To each old field of victory. 6 Unseen, who women held so dear, The strong man’s yearning to his kind Shall shake at most the window-blind, Or dull awhile the card-room’s cheer. 7 In his own place of power unknown, His Light o’ Love another’s flame, His dearest pony galloped lame, And he an alien and alone! 8 Yet may he meet with many a friend– Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen Among us when “God save the Queen” Shows even “extras” have an end. 9 And, when we leave the heated room, And, when at four the lights expire, The crew shall gather round the fire And mock our laughter in the gloom; 10 Talk as we talked, and they ere death– Flirt wanly, dance in ghostly-wise, With ghosts of tunes for melodies, And vanish at the morning's breath.
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