 | English Roses |  |
THE INVALID.
Jane!
That was what her parents called her,
Heedless of their child's felicity
In the bond, which thus enthralled her
By the curt and coarse simplicity—
Bound to be her future bane.
Yet arising
With surprising
Cleverness above her doom,
She transmuted a dull story
Of unmitigated gloom,
Into quite a crown of glory.
That was what her parents called her,
Heedless of their child's felicity
In the bond, which thus enthralled her
By the curt and coarse simplicity—
Bound to be her future bane.
Yet arising
With surprising
Cleverness above her doom,
She transmuted a dull story
Of unmitigated gloom,
Into quite a crown of glory.
Jane!
She with subtle female quickness
Saw and seized her opportunity,
And assumed the part of sickness
With its chances and impunity,
And the curtained window pane.
Nothing sweeter
Or discreeter
Than this stroke of genius bright,
Could have saved her from the stigma
Of deserved not slur or slight—
Now she was a fair enigma.
She with subtle female quickness
Saw and seized her opportunity,
And assumed the part of sickness
With its chances and impunity,
And the curtained window pane.
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Or discreeter
Than this stroke of genius bright,
Could have saved her from the stigma
Of deserved not slur or slight—
Now she was a fair enigma.
Jane!
None could ever style her Jenny
Now and scorn her quiet homeliness,
As if hardly worth a penny—
She put on a garb of comeliness,
Changing hourly like a vane.
With her sceptre
Still adepter
Each new day aloft, alone,
She dispensed her laws unfailing
Sitting queenlike on a throne,
From her couch of measured ailing.
None could ever style her Jenny
Now and scorn her quiet homeliness,
As if hardly worth a penny—
She put on a garb of comeliness,
Changing hourly like a vane.
With her sceptre
Still adepter
Each new day aloft, alone,
She dispensed her laws unfailing
Sitting queenlike on a throne,
From her couch of measured ailing.
Jane!
Thus she meted that or this stress,
With a swift and sad authority;
Parents', servants', doctors', mistress,
One against the vast majority—
Nursing woes that did not wane.
Every morrow
Had its sorrow,
Or some pain defying cure;
Left her yet more firmly planted
In an empire broad and sure,
Ruling over slaves enchanted.
Thus she meted that or this stress,
With a swift and sad authority;
Parents', servants', doctors', mistress,
One against the vast majority—
Nursing woes that did not wane.
Every morrow
Had its sorrow,
Or some pain defying cure;
Left her yet more firmly planted
In an empire broad and sure,
Ruling over slaves enchanted.
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