MOLLY TREFUSIS "Now the Graces are four and the Venuses two, For a Muse and a Grace and a Venus are you,— So he wrote, the old bard of an "old Magazine": As a study it not without use is, If we wonder a moment who she may have been, This same "little Molly Trefusis! " She was Cornish. We know that at once by the "Tre"; Then of guessing it scarce an abuse is If we say that where Bude bellows back to the sea Was the birthplace of Molly Trefusis. And she lived in the era of patches and bows, And I somehow connect her (I frankly admit With BATH in its hey-day of Fashion and Wit,— I fancy her, radiant in ribbon and knot, (How charming that old-fashioned puce is!) All blooming in laces, fal-lals, and what not, At the PUMP ROOM,-Miss Molly Trefusis. I fancy her reigning,-a Beauty,-a Toast,- And we know that at least of one Bard it could boast, The Court of Queen Molly Trefusis. He says she was "VENUS." I doubt it. Beside, (Your rhymer so hopelessly loose is!) His "little" could scarce be to Venus applied, No, no. It was HEBE he had in his mind; And rosy, and rounded, and dimpled-you'll find— Then he calls her "a MUSE." To the charge I reply That we all of us know what a Muse is; It is something too awful,-too acid,-too dry,For sunny-eyed Molly Trefusis. But "a GRACE." There I grant he was probably right; (The rest but a verse-making ruse is) It was all that was graceful,-intangible,-light,The beauty of Molly Trefusis! Was she wooed? Who can hesitate much about that Assuredly more than obtuse is; For how could the poet have written so pat "My dear little Molly Trefusis!" And was wed? That I think we must plainly infer, Since of suitors the common excuse is To take to them Wives. So it happened to her, Of course," little Molly Trefusis!" 'Tis unlikely. To the Bard? 'Tis unlikely. Apollo, you see, In practical matters a goose is ; 'Twas a Knight of the Shire, and a hunting J.P., Who carried off Molly Trefusis! And you'll find, I conclude, in the "Gentleman's Mag.," At the end, where the pick of the news is, "On the (blank), at the Bath,' to Sir Hilary Bragg, With a Fortune, Miss MOLLY Trefusis." Thereupon... But no farther the student may pry So here, at the threshold we part, you and I, AT THE CONVENT GATE WISTARIA blossoms trail and fall Above the length of barrier wall And softly, now and then, The shy, staid-breasted doves will flit From roof to gateway-top, and sit And watch the ways of men. The gate's ajar. If one might peep! The grave, gray-hooded Sisters go, Look, there is one that tells her beads And yonder one apart that reads A tiny missal's page; And see, beside the well, the two Not beautiful-not all! But each With that mild grace, outlying speech, Which comes of even mood;— The Veil unseen that women wear "A placid life-a peaceful life! What need to these the name of Wife? What worthier-e'en your arts among- "No worthier task!" re-echoes She, —And yet, in that warm heart of hers, |