And she lived in the era of patches and bows, Not knowing what rouge or ceruse is ;

For they needed (I trust) but her natural rose,

The lilies of Molly Trefusis.

And I somehow connect her (I frankly admit
That the evidence hard to produce is)
With BATH in its hey-day of Fashion and
Wit,-

This dangerous Molly Trefusis.

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,-
Where BLADUD'S medicinal cruse is ;

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, If fitly to Molly Trefusis.

No, no. It was HEBE he had in his mind;
And fresh as the handmaid of Zeus is,

And rosy, and rounded, and dimpled-you'll find

Was certainly Molly Trefusis!

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 !"

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."

Love's temple is dark as Eleusis;

So here, at the threshold we part, you and I,
From "dear littie Molly Trefusis."

1878.

THE MILKMAID

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

CROSS the grass I see her pass;

ACROSS

She comes with tripping pace,—

A maid I know, and March winds blow Her hair across her face ;

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,

Or blooms the eglantine.

The March winds blow. I watch her go: Her eye is brown and clear;

Her cheek is brown, and soft as down, (To those who see it near!)

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,

Or blooms the eglantine.