Classic Poem

I passed her by with noisy tread,
But she, she never raised her head,
But read, and read, and read, and read.

She'd turn the pages o'er and o'er,
And on each printed line she'd pore
As if she'd never read before.

I hemmed, and coughed, and hummed an air;
I sneezed, and stamped, and scraped my chair
To intimate that I was there.

But ne'er a glance gave she to me.
She simply read on steadily,
As wholly rapt as rapt could be.

And then I spoke, " My dearest Prue, "
Said I, " if I've offended you
I'm sorry, and if I but knew — "

She raised her head and with a glance
As distant as the coast of France —
The kind the poets call askance —

" Excuse me, sir, " she said, so cold
I feared that I'd been overbold,
" I'm reading. I've no wish to scold — "

And then despite her angry frown
My laughter almost reached the town —
The book she held was upside down!

What I got then it were remiss
To set down in a verse like this;
But it was sweet and rhymed with " bliss " !