Page 85 - Poetry-Romance

Agricultural Courtship

A potato went out on a mash,
And sought an onion-bed;
“That’s pie for me,” observed the squash,
And all the beets turned red;
“Go away,” the onion, weeping, cried,
“Your love I cannot be;
The pumpkin be your lawful bride;
You cantelope with me!”

But onward still the tuber came,
And laid down at her feet;
“You cauliflower by any name
And it will smell as wheat;
And I, too, am an early rose;
And you I’ve come to see,
So don’t up your lovely nose
But spinache at with me.”

“I do not carrot all to wed,
So go, sir, if you please!”
The modest onion meekly said,
“And lettuce, pray, have peas!
Go, think that you have never seen
Myself, or smelled my sigh;
Too long a maiden I have been
For favors in your rye!”

“And, spare a cuss!” the tuber prayed;
“My cherryshed bride you’ll be;
You are the only weeping maid
That’s currant now with me!”
And as the wily tuber spoke
He caught her by surprise,
And giving her an artichoke,
Devoured her with his eyes.

— (from a Victorian Scrap Album)

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