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!

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."

Thereupon... But no farther the student may pry
Love's temple is dark as Eleusis;

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

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!
Ah, what a haunt of rest and sleep
The shadowy garden seems!
And note how dimly to and fro

The grave, gray-hooded Sisters go,
Like figures seen in dreams.

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
That, kneeling, strive to lure anew
The magpie to its cage!

Not beautiful-not all! But each
With that mild grace, outlying speech,
Which comes of even mood ;—

AT THE CONVENT GATE

The Veil unseen that women wear
With heart-whole thought, and quiet care,
And hope of higher good.

"A placid life-a peaceful life!

What need to these the name of Wife?
What gentler task (I said)—

What worthier-e'en your arts among-
Than tend the sick, and teach the young,
And give the hungry bread?"

"No worthier task!" re-echoes She, Who (closelier clinging) turns with me To face the road again:

-And yet, in that warm heart of hers, She means the doves', for she prefers To"watch the ways of men."

THE MILKMAID

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

ACROSS the grass 1 see her pass;

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.

What has she not that those have got,—

The dames that walk in silk!

If she undo her 'kerchief blue,

Her neck is white as milk.