The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang Edited by Mrs. Lang |
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Doris's Books
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 | The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang |  |
121
Doris's Books
Doris, on your shelves I note
Many a grave ancestral tome.
These, perhaps, you have by rote;
These are constantly at home.
Ah, but many a gap I spy
Where Miss Broughton's novels lie!
Many a grave ancestral tome.
These, perhaps, you have by rote;
These are constantly at home.
Ah, but many a gap I spy
Where Miss Broughton's novels lie!
Doris, there, behind the glass,
On your Sheratonian shelves—
Oft I see them as I pass—
Stubbs and Freeman sun themselves.
All unread I watch them stand;
That's Belinda in your hand!
On your Sheratonian shelves—
Oft I see them as I pass—
Stubbs and Freeman sun themselves.
All unread I watch them stand;
That's Belinda in your hand!
Doris, I, as you may know,
Am myself a Man of Letters,
But my learnèd volumes go
To the top shelf, like my betters,
High—so high that Doris could
Scarce get at them if she would!
Am myself a Man of Letters,
But my learnèd volumes go
To the top shelf, like my betters,
High—so high that Doris could
Scarce get at them if she would!
122
Doris, there be books of mine
That I gave you, wrote your name in,
Tooled and gilded, fair and fine:
Don't you ever peep the same in?
Yes, I see you've kept them—but,
Doris, they are ‘Quite Uncut!’
That I gave you, wrote your name in,
Tooled and gilded, fair and fine:
Don't you ever peep the same in?
Yes, I see you've kept them—but,
Doris, they are ‘Quite Uncut!’
Quite uncut, ‘unopened’ rather
Are mine edifying pages;
From this circumstance I gather
That some other Muse engages,
Doris, your misguided fancy:
Yes, I thought so—reading Nancy.
Are mine edifying pages;
From this circumstance I gather
That some other Muse engages,
Doris, your misguided fancy:
Yes, I thought so—reading Nancy.
Well, when you are older, Doris,
Wiser, too, you'll love my verses;
Celia likes them, and, what more is,
Oft—to me—their praise rehearses.
‘Celia's Thirty’, did I hear?
Doris, too, can be severe!
Wiser, too, you'll love my verses;
Celia likes them, and, what more is,
Oft—to me—their praise rehearses.
‘Celia's Thirty’, did I hear?
Doris, too, can be severe!
| The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang | |