XVI
At the Photographer's—
“Oh make me so lovely, Apollo,” she cried,
“All women shall hate me & all men adore!”
“I can't.” “And a god?” “Twere time lost if I tried,
For the Graces united have done it before.”
2.
“The focus (that's the term, I think,) not yet
Adjusted? Doubtful still the point of view?”
“Pardon, signora, 'tis that I forget,
With you in focus, I've aught else to do.”
3.
“Odious! a failure! Why he's made me old!
I'll none of it!” “Then might I be so bold
To take a rear-view? Could my lens ensnare
That careless haycock of unrivalled hair,
The head's disdain, the lithe waist—I'll be bound
Whoever saw would pray till it turned round.”
