Page 51 - Poetry-Books

Uncertain

A little Pegasus
Will make a greater fuss
Than one of thrice his size;
He will not pull his load;
He will not keep the road;
You cannot make him wise.
“Come!” with asperity,
I say, “and pull for me
My van of comic verse.”
He hangs his shaggy head,
And sighs to me instead,
“I’d rather draw your hearse!”
“Where is that Sentiment
For which you last were sent?”
I ask impatiently.
Up go his heels, and off,
And back he brings a scoff
Or foolish jest to me.
I never can foresee
What he will bring to me,
Nor where he’ll choose to balk.
I scarcely dare at all
To ride him, lest I fall—
‘Tis safer far to walk!
Yet—little elfin steed,
Useless in time of need,
Uncertain at all times;
Restive, and rough, and wild,
How often you’ve beguiled
Dull pain away with rhymes.
“A poor thing, but mine own”;
Then leave me not alone;
A foolish dream is mine
Of mounting you some night
For a wild, distant flight
Where stars unnumbered shine.

— Margaret Vandegrift (Century Magazine, 1887)

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