Short Poems

Proud Damsel, when you come to tub me,
Such burning currents through me flow,
You scarcely have begun to rub me,
When I am all aglow.

You with the roses,
What have you to sell?
Say, may we buy your posies
And you as well?
For all the roses' grace
Is in your face.

Beauty's but a painted fly.
If to keep a man you wish,
Charm's the hidden mystery
That will hook your fish.

Once you called me " Sweet " and " Honey ,"
Ere in French we learned to woo;
Now your name for me is " Donney ,"
Mine for you is just " Na Poo ."

" Fly from Love" — 'Tis useless pain;
Love has wings.
" Drive him from you" — All in vain;
Like a wasp he comes again,
And he stings.

O cruel Love, how fierce the fire
That burns my fluttering heart;
Burn not too often, lest desire
A runaway depart.

Love plagues me with a double curse —
A wanton heart, an empty purse;
If from his fires I could fly,
I would not heed my poverty.

Joan is so quick, she earns a triple fee.
Two lovers aren't enough, a third has she;
For she has means to satisfy all three.

There was a silver age, an age of gold,
And then an age of brass, in days of old.
Like Nestor, Venus lived in all the three,
Gold, brass, and silver each with her agree.
The man of silver and of gold she loves,
The man of brass with all her heart approves,
And Zeus a hundred guineas had to pay
Before he fell on Danai that day.

Where now, Melissa, is the wondrous glow
Of thy proud beauty, thy disdainful brow,
Thy haughty charm, thy long and slender neck,
The clasps of gold that did thy ankles deck?
Thy hair is rough; rags hang about thy feet;
Such is the end that spendthrift wantons meet.