Written by
Edmund Spenser |
In praise of Eliza Queen of the Shepherds
SEE where she sits upon the grassie greene,
(O seemely sight!)
Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene,
And ermines white:
Upon her head a Cremosin coronet 5
With Damaske roses and Daffadillies set:
Bay leaves betweene,
And primroses greene,
Embellish the sweete Violet.
Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face 10
Like Phoebe fayre?
Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,
Can you well compare?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere: 15
Her modest eye,
Her Majestie,
Where have you seene the like but there?
I see Calliope speede her to the place,
Where my Goddesse shines; 20
And after her the other Muses trace
With their Violines.
Bene they not Bay braunches which they do beare,
All for Elisa in her hand to weare?
So sweetely they play, 25
And sing all the way,
That it a heaven is to heare.
Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote
To the Instrument:
They dauncen deffly, and singen soote, 30
In their meriment.
Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce even?
Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven.
She shal be a Grace,
To fyll the fourth place, 35
And reigne with the rest in heaven.
Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gelliflowres;
Bring Coronations, and Sops-in-wine
Worne of Paramoures: 40
Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and lov¨¨d Lillies:
The pretie Pawnce,
And the Chevisaunce,
Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.
45
Now ryse up, Elisa, deck¨¨d as thou art
In royall aray;
And now ye daintie Damsells may depart
Eche one her way.
I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe: 50
Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song:
And if you come hether
When Damsines I gether,
I will part them all you among.
GLOSS: medled] mixed.
yfere] together.
soote] sweet.
coronations] carnations.
sops-in-wine] striped pinks.
pawnce] pansy.
chevisaunce] wallflower.
flowre delice] iris.
|
Written by
Anne Sexton |
Come friend,
I have an old story to tell you—
Listen.
Sit down beside me and listen.
My face is red with sorrow
and my breasts are made of straw.
I sit in the ladder-back chair
in a corner of the polished stage.
I have forgiven all the old actors for dying.
A new one comes on with the same lines,
like large white growths, in his mouth.
The dancers come on from the wings,
perfectly mated.
I look up.
The ceiling is pearly.
My thighs press, knotting in their treasure.
Upstage the bride falls in satin to the floor.
Beside her the tall hero in a red wool robe
stirs the fire with his ivory cane.
The string quartet plays for itself,
gently, gently, sleeves and waxy bows.
The legs of the dancers leap and catch.
I myself have little stiff legs,
my back is as straight as a book
and how I came to this place—
the little feverish roses,
the islands of olives and radishes,
the blissful pastimes of the parlor—
I'll never know.
|
Written by
Robert William Service |
Till midnight her needle she plied
To finish her pretty pink dress;
"Oh, bless you, my darling," she sighed;
"I hope you will be a success.
"
As she entered the Oddfellow's Hall
With the shy thrill of maiden romance
She felt like the belle of the Ball,
But .
.
.
nobody asked her to dance.
Her programme was clutched in her hand;
Her smile was a tiny bit wan;
She listened, applauding the band,
Pretending she liked to look on.
Each girl had her favourite swain,
She watched them retreat and advance;
She waited and waited in vain,
but nobody asked her to dance.
Said Mother to me: "You'll agree
That any young girl who wears specs,
however so clever she be,
Is lacking in glamour of sex.
"
Said I: "There is one by the wall
Who doesn't seem having a chance.
She's ready to weep - Dash it all,
I'm going to ask her to dance.
"
I caught her just slipping away
So quietly no one would know;
But bravely she tried to seem gay,
Though her heart might be aching with woe.
Poor kid! She looked only sixteen,
And she gave me a half frightened glance
When I bowed as if she were a Queen,
And I begged: "May I please have this dance?"
She gave me her card: what a bluff!
She'd written "Sir G.
" and "Sir G.
"
So I cut out that Galahad stuff,
And I scribbled "M.
E" and "M.
E.
";
She looked so forlorn and so frail,
Submitting like one in a trance,
So I acted the conquering male,
And guided her into the dance.
Then lo! to my joy and surprise
Her waltzing I found was divine;
And she took those damn specs from her eyes,
And behold they were jewels a-shine;
No lipstick nor rouge she had on,
But no powder or paint could enhance
On her cheeks the twin roses shone
As I had with her dance after dance.
Then all of a sudden I knew
As we waltzed and reversed round the hall
That all eyes were watching us two,
And that she was the Belle of the Ball.
The fellows came buzzing like bees,
With swagger and posture and prance,
But her programme was full of "M.
E.
"s,
So she couldn't afford them a dance.
Said mother: "You've been a nice boy,
But had a good time I suppose.
You've filled that poor kid's heart with joy,
From now she'll have plenty of beaus.
" .
.
.
So fellows, please listen to me:
Don't look at a wallflower askance;
If a girl sitting lonely you see,
Just bow, smile and beg for a dance.
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