Читать книгу The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe - Various - Страница 48

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I pass'd her one day in a hurry,

When late for the Post with a letter—

I think near the corner of Murray—

And up rose my heart as I met her!

I ne'er saw a parasol handled

So like to a duchess's doing—

I ne'er saw a slighter foot sandal'd,

Or so fit to exhale in the shoeing—

Lovely thing!

Surprising!—one woman can dish us

So many rare sweets up together!

Tournure absolutely delicious—

Chip hat without flower or feather—

Well-gloved and enchantingly boddiced,

Her waist like the cup of a lily—

And an air, that, while daintily modest,

Repell'd both the saucy and silly—

Quite the thing!

For such a rare wonder you'll say, sir,

There's reason in tearing one's tether—

And, to see her again in Broadway, sir,

Who would not be lavish of leather!

I met her again, and as YOU know

I'm sage as old Voltaire at Ferney—

But I said a bad word—for my Juno

Look'd sweet on a sneaking attorney—

Horrid thing!

Away flies the dream I had nourish'd—

My castles like mockery fall, sir!

And, now, the fine airs that she flourish'd

Seem varnish and crockery all, sir!

The bright cup which angels might handle

Turns earthy when finger'd by asses—

And the star that "swaps" light with a candle,

Thenceforth for a pennyworth passes!—

Not the thing!