 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
119
LINES,
FOUND AT THE CITY OF WASHINGTON, IN A LADY'S GLOVE. THE AUTHOR NOT AVOWED.
Sweet Glove! when snugly packed you lay
In dealers shop, and slept all day
Close to your partner's bosom prest;
—What new emotions fired your breast,
When leading on the laughing loves,
Philenia stopped, and asked for Gloves.
When the reluctant glove she drew
From off her hand, and tried on you.
What transport through your system thrilled,
When your distended form was filled,
With beauty never, known before;—
And touched with more than magic power;
And ah! what rapture through you flew,
When she replied—“Sir, these will do.”
In dealers shop, and slept all day
Close to your partner's bosom prest;
—What new emotions fired your breast,
When leading on the laughing loves,
Philenia stopped, and asked for Gloves.
When the reluctant glove she drew
From off her hand, and tried on you.
What transport through your system thrilled,
When your distended form was filled,
With beauty never, known before;—
And touched with more than magic power;
And ah! what rapture through you flew,
When she replied—“Sir, these will do.”
Since daily you her hand have prest,
And nightly near her gone to rest—
But soon alas! your joys are past—
Extatic bliss can never last!
For quickly you are doomed to know,
That when you torn and worn shall grow,
You—hapless elf, will be thrown by
Neglected—in some corner lie,
And see some glove all white and new,
Obtain that hand so prized by you.
And nightly near her gone to rest—
120
Extatic bliss can never last!
For quickly you are doomed to know,
That when you torn and worn shall grow,
You—hapless elf, will be thrown by
Neglected—in some corner lie,
And see some glove all white and new,
Obtain that hand so prized by you.
To meet neglect for all your love,
Is grief enough for hapless glove—
But when stern fate shall add to this,
That you must know your rival's bliss,
And hopeless meet his haughty scorn;
—What glove was ever so forlorn!—
Is grief enough for hapless glove—
But when stern fate shall add to this,
That you must know your rival's bliss,
And hopeless meet his haughty scorn;
—What glove was ever so forlorn!—
At last, in plaister, or in string,
Or cleaning plate, your days may end;
Who then will think that such a thing,
Poor Glove! was e'er Philenia's friend!
Or cleaning plate, your days may end;
Who then will think that such a thing,
Poor Glove! was e'er Philenia's friend!
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |