In Bohemia.

Ha! My dear! I'm back again -
    Vendor of Bohemia's wares!
Lordy! How it pants a man
    Climbing up those awful stairs!
    Well, I've made the dealer say
    Your sketch might sell, anyway!
    And I've made a publisher
    Hear my poem, Kate, my dear.

In Bohemia, Kate, my dear -
    Lodgers in a musty flat
On the top floor - living here
    Neighborless, and used to that, -
    Like a nest beneath the eaves,
    So our little home receives
    Only guests of chirping cheer -
    We'll be happy, Kate, my dear!

Under your north-light there, you
    At your easel, with a stain
On your nose of Prussian blue,
    Paint your bits of shine and rain;
    With my feet thrown up at will
    O'er my littered window-sill,
    I write rhymes that ring as clear
    As your laughter, Kate, my dear.

Puff my pipe, and stroke my hair -
    Bite my pencil-tip and gaze
At you, mutely mooning there
    O'er your "Aprils" and your "Mays!"
    Equal inspiration in
    Dimples of your cheek and chin,
    And the golden atmosphere
    Of your paintings, Kate, my dear!

Trying! Yes, at times it is,
    To clink happy rhymes, and fling
On the canvas scenes of bliss,
    When we are half famishing! -
    When your "jersey" rips in spots,
    And your hat's "forget-me-nots"
    Have grown tousled, old and sere -
    It is trying, Kate, my dear!

But - as sure - some picture sells,
    And - sometimes - the poetry -
Bless us! How the parrot yells
    His acclaims at you and me!
    How we revel then in scenes
    Of high banqueting! - sardines -
    Salads - olives - and a sheer
    Pint of sherry, Kate, my dear!

Even now I cross your palm,
    With this great round world of gold! -
"Talking wild?" Perhaps I am -
    Then, this little five-year-old! -
    Call it anything you will,
    So it lifts your face until
    I may kiss away that tear
    Ere it drowns me, Kate, my dear.