Dialogue From Plato, A

"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.