University of Virginia Library

JOAN.

I tell you, Joan
Was never and will never be as cheap
As your great market heap
Of marriageable girls, all sorts and sizes—
But one of the few prizes;
And she is staunch
As my pet strawberry roan,
From tiny head to shapely haunch:
Excuse the simile;
Not like that made-up Lady Emily,
All rouge and powder—see her puff box!
And sniffling like that priest of Bethel,
The Baal jumper
And mad tub-thumper;
I'll take a pinch—
Thanks for your snuff-box!
You talk of Ethel—
Ah, my true Joan is honest every inch,
And looks it, walks it in high-stepping paces,
With all the usual gifts and graces;
Plus that which makes the grand totality
(Without the fads that turn most silly)
Her bright fresh individuality;
And fairly broken now to hand—
Yes, running in a silken band—
My chestnut filly.
Just see her action, mark her head
So delicately poised on arching
Swan neck and shoulder—
All thoroughbred.
None of your stupid codes and starching,
But freedom, fire, and open ways
And (as there is no figure bolder)
What I should call sheer “devil”—
Force bursting through thin custom stays,
In gay ripe revel.
You are a scholar, I a mere plain man, sir,
Though not a simple Simon;
And you would reel me off a sounding chain
Of learnèd words, in form of answer,
Out of your loaded classic brain,
And say she has a “Daimon.”
Ah, many a moth
Was scorched in her fierce candle
And went out into utter
Darkness—if with a sputter.
She hourly made and broke her solemn troth
And liked to dandle
One puppet, then another, as a loan
Repaid in tears
And blighted years—
That's Joan.