Fuess and Stearns, comps. The Little Book of Society Verse. 1922.
By. Frederick Locker-LampsonA Nice Correspondent
T
To darkness, for evening is come;
The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted,
The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb.
I’m alone at my casement, for Pappy
Is summoned to dinner to Kew:
I’m alone, dearest Fred, but I’m happy—
I’m thinking of you.
Than dull, you’d be dearer than dear;
I am drest in your favorite colour—
Dear Fred, how I wish you were here!
I’m wearing my lazuli necklace,
The necklace you fasten’d askew!
Was there ever so rude or so reckless
A darling as you?
On two or three books with a plot;
Of course you know “Janet’s Repentance”?
I’m reading Sir Waverley Scott,
The story of Edgar and Lucy,
How thrilling, romantic, and true!
The Master (his bride was a goosey!)
Reminds me of you.
A poet whose garland endures;
It was you who first spouted me Browning,—
That stupid old Browning of yours!
His vogue and his verve are alarming,
I’m anxious to give him his due,
But, Fred, he’s not nearly so charming
A poet as you!
I saw how you rode Chanticleer,
I have heard the report of your speeches,
And echo’d the echoing cheer.
There’s a whisper of hearts you are breaking,
Dear Fred, I believe it, I do!
Small marvel that Fashion is making
Her idol of you.
Bought triumph, its fugitive bliss;
Sometimes I half wish I were merely
A plain or a penniless miss;
But, perhaps, one is best “with a measure
Of pelf,” and I’m not sorry, too,
That I’m pretty, because ’t is a pleasure,
My darling, to you!
Your taste is for letters and art;—
This rhyme is the commonplace passion
That glows in a fond woman’s heart:
Lay it by in a dainty deposit
For relics—we all have a few!
Love, some day they’ll print it, because it
Was written to you.