Page 44 - Poetry-Romance

When tutti-frutti lost its spell,
I felt some hidden grief impended;
When she declined a caramel,
I knew my rosy dream had ended.

She paints no more on china plaques,
With tints that would have crazed Murillo,
Strange birds that never plumed their backs
When Father Noah braved the billow.
Her fancy limns, with brighter brush,
The splendid triumphs that await her,
When, in the court, a breathless hush
Gives homage to the keen debater.
‘Tis sad to meet such crushing noes
From eyes as blue as Scottish heather;
‘Tis sad a maid with cheeks of rose
Should have her heart bound up in leather.
‘Tis sad to keep one’s passion pent,
Though Pallas’ arms the Fair environ;
But worse to have her quoting Kent
When one is fondly breathing Byron.
When Lillian’s licensed at the law
Her fame, be sure, will live forever;
No barrister will pick a flaw
In logic so extremely clever.
The sheriff will forget his nap
To feast upon the lovely vision,
And e’en the Judge will set his cap
At her, and dream of love Elysian.

— Samuel Minturn Peck (Century Magazine, 1884)

~ 42 ~