 | Collected poems |  |
405
“PREMIERS AMOURS”
Old Loves and old dreams,—
“Requiescant in pace.”
How strange now it seems,—
“Old” Loves and “old” dreams!
Yet we once wrote you reams,
Maude, Alice, and Gracie!
Old Loves and old dreams,—
“Requiescant in pace.”
“Requiescant in pace.”
How strange now it seems,—
“Old” Loves and “old” dreams!
Yet we once wrote you reams,
Maude, Alice, and Gracie!
Old Loves and old dreams,—
“Requiescant in pace.”
When I called at the “Hollies” to-day,
In the room with the cedar-wood presses,
Aunt Deb. was just folding away
What she calls her “memorial dresses.”
In the room with the cedar-wood presses,
Aunt Deb. was just folding away
What she calls her “memorial dresses.”
She'd the frock that she wore at fifteen,—
Short-waisted, of course—my abhorrence;
She'd “the loveliest”—something in “een”
That she wears in her portrait by Lawrence;
Short-waisted, of course—my abhorrence;
She'd “the loveliest”—something in “een”
That she wears in her portrait by Lawrence;
She'd the “jelick” she used—“as a Greek,”(!)
She'd the habit she got her bad fall in;
She had e'en the blue moiré antique
That she opened Squire Grasshopper's ball in:—
She'd the habit she got her bad fall in;
She had e'en the blue moiré antique
That she opened Squire Grasshopper's ball in:—
New and old they were all of them there:—
Sleek velvet and bombazine stately,—
She had hung them each over a chair
To the “paniers” she's taken to lately
Sleek velvet and bombazine stately,—
She had hung them each over a chair
To the “paniers” she's taken to lately
406
(Which she showed me, I think, by mistake).
And I conned o'er the forms and the fashions,
Till the faded old shapes seemed to wake
All the ghosts of my passed-away “passions”;—
And I conned o'er the forms and the fashions,
Till the faded old shapes seemed to wake
All the ghosts of my passed-away “passions”;—
From the days of love's youthfullest dream,
When the height of my shooting idea
Was to burn, like a young Polypheme,
For a somewhat mature Galatea.
When the height of my shooting idea
Was to burn, like a young Polypheme,
For a somewhat mature Galatea.
There was Lucy, who “tiffed” with her first,
And who threw me as soon as her third came;
There was Norah, whose cut was the worst,
For she told me to wait till my “berd” came;
And who threw me as soon as her third came;
There was Norah, whose cut was the worst,
For she told me to wait till my “berd” came;
Pale Blanche, who subsisted on salts;
Blonde Bertha, who doted on Schiller;
Poor Amy, who taught me to waltz;
Plain Ann, that I wooed for the “siller”;—
Blonde Bertha, who doted on Schiller;
Poor Amy, who taught me to waltz;
Plain Ann, that I wooed for the “siller”;—
All danced round my head in a ring,
Like “The Zephyrs” that somebody painted,
All shapes of the feminine thing—
Shy, scornful, seductive, and sainted,—
Like “The Zephyrs” that somebody painted,
All shapes of the feminine thing—
Shy, scornful, seductive, and sainted,—
To my Wife, in the days she was young . . .
“How, Sir,” says that lady, disgusted,
“Do you dare to include Me among
Your loves that have faded and rusted?”
“How, Sir,” says that lady, disgusted,
“Do you dare to include Me among
Your loves that have faded and rusted?”
407
“Not at all!”—I benignly retort.
(I was just the least bit in a temper!)
“Those, alas! were the fugitive sort,
But you are my—eadem semper!”
(I was just the least bit in a temper!)
“Those, alas! were the fugitive sort,
But you are my—eadem semper!”
Full stop,—and a Sermon. Yet think,—
There was surely good ground for a quarrel,—
She had checked me when just on the brink
Of—I feel—a remarkable Moral.
There was surely good ground for a quarrel,—
She had checked me when just on the brink
Of—I feel—a remarkable Moral.
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