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Or I find myself placidly adding
To the rapturous tresses of Rose Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding,
Was there ever so sad a dilemma?
For Rose I would perish (pro tem.); For Dora I'd willingly stem a
(Whatever might offer to stem); But to make the invidious election
To declare that on either one's side I've a scruple—a grain more affection,
I can not decide.
And as either so hopelessly nice is,
My sole and my final resource
Some feat of molecular force,
By no means to peace or repose,
Of Dora and Rose.
(After-thought.) But, perhaps, if a third (say a Norah),
Not quite so delightful as RoseNot wholy so charming as Dora
Should appear, is it wrong to supposeAs the claims of the others are equal
And flight-in the main-is the bestThat I might ... But no matter—the sequel
Is easily guessed.
THEY nearly strike me dumb,
Think of that.
O, where did hunter win
For her feet?
For my sweet!
The fairy stitching gleams
And it shows
And these toes.
What soles to charm an elf!
Chanced to view
For the two !
For Gerry's debonair,
As a rose.
To her nose.
Those simpletons who squeeze Their extremities, to please
Mandarins, Would positively flinch From venturing to pinch
Cinderella's lefts and rights
And I trow
Come, Gerry, since it suits
These to don,
Put them on.
WHEREVER I wander, up and about,
I have a wife, and she is wise,
Deep in philosophy, strong in Greek; Spectacles shadow her pretty eyes,
Coteries rustle to hear her speak; She writes a little for love, not fame;