Classic Poem

Ah, Doctor, your hand! So! And now, as I hold
This palm that I value so truly,
Here's a bill for your bill, though I warrant that gold
Cannot pay all my debt to you duly.

Yes, I need you no longer; the pain I endured
Has vanished, I hope, now, forever.
You will laugh when I tell you the way I was cured—
By contracting a more ardent fever!

You have heard how the women are thronging the ways
That lead up to fame and position;
And I know you will frown when I join in the praise
Of fair woman in guise of physician.

As I stopped by a door one fine morning in May,
A song through the doorway came trilling
And down to the core of my heart made its way,
Like a tonic both healing and thrilling.

It seemed to say: “Live not for self, but for me,
And your heart will beat easy hereafter.”
So she cured me with song, and with smiles set me free,
And such dear counter-irritant laughter!

Now, given that one has a palpitant heart,
Is not a soft pressure pacific?
And, if taken between meals, with delicate art,
Are not kisses a fine soporific?

You said once my heart had expanded too wide;
So I thought, as it was over-roomy,
I might as well take a dear lady inside—
And 'tis glad now, where once it was gloomy.

I wish that I could but portray you my prize—
All the grace of my dear little singer—
But I stop in despair at her beautiful eyes!
No, I cannot describe her! I'll bring her!

Now, Doctor, don't envy this rival of yours,
With her pharmacopœia of beauty,
Since her voice and her eyes work such marvelous cures,
To love my new doctor is duty.