Page 65 - Poetry-Whimsy
P. 65
Anti-Climax
Breathless the audience sat;
Dozens of women were crying;
The cruel Moor had done his worst,
And Desdemona was dying.
How beautifully she died!
One last fond look at her lover,
Then the blue eyes closed on his swarthy face,
As he wrathfully stood above her.
A silence that could be felt
Followed—it really was freezing!
Then—a ripple of laughter stirred the house,
For Desdemona was sneezing!
The Moor was in earnest now;
His face made a darkness round it;
But no one but Desdemona heard
His low, intense “Confound it!”
— Margaret Vandegrift (Century Magazine, 1889)
On a Becalmed Sleeping Car
The snoring grows louder and deeper,
And this problem I meditate o’er:
If this is the snore of a sleeper,
Oh, what if the Sleeper should snore!
— Meredith Nicholson (Century Magazine, 1891)
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