 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
LOO.
Loo is daring and dusky,
And speaks in a husky
Low voice with a sinister scowl,
And her hair
Is like midnight, and she like a shadowy owl
That delights in the gloom as a cloud in the air;
She looks common and ugly
In feature and face,
But in bed sleeping snugly
She assumes a new grace;
I once paid her a visit, as often I do,
And there found in her place a bright angel—not Loo.
And speaks in a husky
Low voice with a sinister scowl,
And her hair
Is like midnight, and she like a shadowy owl
That delights in the gloom as a cloud in the air;
She looks common and ugly
In feature and face,
But in bed sleeping snugly
She assumes a new grace;
I once paid her a visit, as often I do,
And there found in her place a bright angel—not Loo.
Loo is unwashed and haggard
At morning, a laggard
And grumbles to leave her poor couch;
But at eve
She flares up like the gas, and is ready to slouch
On her mission of darkness to forage and thieve;
With her heavy lips pouted,
Her forehead all creast
And her frock furred and clouted,
She seems a wild beast;
But in spite of her crossness she's easy to woo,
Though not easy to win in her tantrums is Loo.
At morning, a laggard
And grumbles to leave her poor couch;
But at eve
She flares up like the gas, and is ready to slouch
On her mission of darkness to forage and thieve;
With her heavy lips pouted,
Her forehead all creast
And her frock furred and clouted,
She seems a wild beast;
But in spite of her crossness she's easy to woo,
Though not easy to win in her tantrums is Loo.
Loo has marrow and muscle
And shines in a tussle,
Prepared for a blow or a scratch,
And her fist
For a child's has a vigour one hardly could match;
Only try, and you'll see who is first to desist.
She is often quite sober
If penury calls,
And as grave as October
When the crimson leaf falls;
If she washes her lips in beer sometimes, we too
Are as erring without the excuses of Loo.
And shines in a tussle,
Prepared for a blow or a scratch,
And her fist
For a child's has a vigour one hardly could match;
Only try, and you'll see who is first to desist.
480
If penury calls,
And as grave as October
When the crimson leaf falls;
If she washes her lips in beer sometimes, we too
Are as erring without the excuses of Loo.
Loo to me looks enchanted,
A maiden transplanted
From bowers where blossoms are gems
And birds sing;
And I still see, betwixt the bare winterly stems,
All the promise and sweet resurrection of Spring;
When her dark grey eye flashes,
I think of the palm
That shoots up from its ashes
Renewed like a psalm;
And if Christ were to traverse the slums, I know who
Would be hid in His arms—it would be wicked Loo.
A maiden transplanted
From bowers where blossoms are gems
And birds sing;
And I still see, betwixt the bare winterly stems,
All the promise and sweet resurrection of Spring;
When her dark grey eye flashes,
I think of the palm
That shoots up from its ashes
Renewed like a psalm;
And if Christ were to traverse the slums, I know who
Would be hid in His arms—it would be wicked Loo.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |