Page 69 - Poetry-Romance

An Impossible Girl

Once on a time there lived a maid
Who never was of mice afraid,
A perfect game of whist she played,
This maid entrancing.
Of gowns and styles she never talked,
Attempts to compliment she balked,
For exercise she only walked—
She hated dancing.

She wore no loud, queer-colored glove,
She never yet had been in love,
Her bureau held no picture of
The latest actor.
And, furthermore, she never went
To matinées, nor ever spent
Her change for soda; roses sent
Could not attract her.

Of slang she never used a word,
Of flirting she had never heard,
Society—it seems absurd—
She did not care for.
At gay resorts where men were not
She never seemed to care a jot,
Until the mothers wondered what
The girl was there for.

No one will know from whence she came,
She left no record but her fame,
Not even can we learn her name
Or what her station.
When did she live ? How did she die?
She lived in fancy. It’s a lie.
I’ve only tried to practise my
Imagination.

— James G. Burnett (Century Magazine, 1892)

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