Classic Poem

When, lady, you applaud my rhymes
Appearing in the public prints,
(As you have done a dozen times),
I wince.

A bead (or two) bepearls my brow;
I modestly say " Pooh! " or " Tush! "
I'd blush, I think, if I knew how
To blush.

Once, when your praise was too absurd,
I spoke of Calverley. With vim
And scorn you said: " I never heard
Of him. "

Tottered my reason, shook my nerve,
I stifled an uprising sob.
" Has she, " I wondered, " heard of Irv-
In Cobb? "

Take, lady, then, this blithesome book —
My friend, philosopher, and guide —
And don't, I pray, forget to look
Inside.

How fair the rhymes! The verse how fresh!
Like " one clear harp in divers tones. "
Read " Flight, " " Forever, " — oh, read " Prec-
Ious Stones " !

Here, all this treasured tome throughout,
Shall you find undiluted joy.
You, in your classic phrase, will shout
" Oh, boy!

Yet pricks the thorn upon the rose;
And lurks the wormwood in the cup:
Calverley. ... Lady, how he shows
Me up!