After Browning

That's my last Orbit lying in the bin,
Wrapped in a hanky. It's been lying in
My room since March: I got it from
A vending-machine in Cologne, for a small sum
Of coins. Disgusting, really; but I had
An interview, and thought my breath smelled bad.
Disgusting by design. The minty taste
Now deep and passionate in the bag of waste
Is chemical (but then, no-one puts by
Their tastes in times of need quite as do I).
But not the first are you to ask me why
If such is my abhorrence, I succumb
And ev'ry now and then buy chewing-gum.
The guidelines chanced to say: “Thy honoured breath
“Should fragrant be, or else the venture risketh
“miscarriage,“ and “Spend wisely what thou hast
“Lest th'interview be soured,” and so at last
I weakened, and – how shall I say? - took heart
(Too soon made glad?) and did my fiscal part.
Sir, 'twas all one! Th'affair is done and sealed,
The contract's signed, and to the Northland mailed,
And to me is the speaker's trade revealed.
New offices await, th'approving speech;
Already feel I lateness, Morpheus' reach
Entwining me – as if I ranked his touch,
Nine-hundred-years-and-many-more, with such
As brown, tart gold, which, had you cash to buy
(Which I have not) you'd value just as I –
Just this, or that, is where I feel the smart,
The sweaty brow, or dragging hair, or wart
On back of neck. They smile, no doubt, at me;
But is that passing smile of theirs so free?
– But I digress. The Orbit lying there
(Will't please you rise?) 'mong skeins of torn-out hair
Is in its final resting-place, and so
Has met its truer company below.
Now, mark: this piece of Mendelssohn's is grand:
No livelier climax raise I with my hand!
Nay, after you. Notice the quaver:
It marks the gap 'tween this night, and forever!