TWO LADIES.TO C. D. G. AND A. B. W.
TO C. D. G. AND A. B. W.
Two ladies, notrealladies (no offence—I don’t mean “not real ladies” inthatsense),But pictured fancies they—who dwelt betweenThe pages of a weekly magazine.Though often in the selfsame week they met,They were n’t exactly in the selfsame set,And could not know each other. One, I think,Was done in wash; the other, pen and ink.The wash lady (again there’s no offence—I use “wash” in its pure artistic sense)Was a brunette, vivacious, charming wholly;Neither too slim, nor yet too rolly-poly.A dazzling smile had this enchanting creature;Indeed, her most predominating featureWas a continuous show of glittering pearl;And on her forehead hung a little curl—A most distracting little curl; and last,She had a very slight Hebraic cast.Gray eyes the other had, serene and clear;A cold and distant manner; yet I fearHer looks belied her, for she oft was seenLounging about the beach, or ’mid the green,Of the conservatory’s dim retreat,Always some chappie nestling at her feet.A first-rate fellow she, and looked her bestWhen in a golf or walking costume dressed;In short, the other’s opposite in all,And fearfully and wonderfully tall.One day, by chance, each occupied a placeOn the same page, exactly face to face,In such a way ’t was possible no moreFor either one the other to ignore.Then in an instant burst into a flameThe fire that had been smouldering.“How cameYou here?” they both exclaimed, as with one voice.(Here I use asterisks, though not from choiceBut type has limits, and must play the dunce;When two young ladies both converse at once.)**—!—***?**!!!!!!*****!!***??———!!*********!!-----!——!-----******—!!!!!——!—!—!!I left them to their scenes.Next day I found the page insmithereens,And I reflected, “It is very sadThat two nice girls should get so awfully madAbout a thing for which, had they but known,Two artists were responsible alone.”
Two ladies, notrealladies (no offence—I don’t mean “not real ladies” inthatsense),But pictured fancies they—who dwelt betweenThe pages of a weekly magazine.Though often in the selfsame week they met,They were n’t exactly in the selfsame set,And could not know each other. One, I think,Was done in wash; the other, pen and ink.The wash lady (again there’s no offence—I use “wash” in its pure artistic sense)Was a brunette, vivacious, charming wholly;Neither too slim, nor yet too rolly-poly.A dazzling smile had this enchanting creature;Indeed, her most predominating featureWas a continuous show of glittering pearl;And on her forehead hung a little curl—A most distracting little curl; and last,She had a very slight Hebraic cast.Gray eyes the other had, serene and clear;A cold and distant manner; yet I fearHer looks belied her, for she oft was seenLounging about the beach, or ’mid the green,Of the conservatory’s dim retreat,Always some chappie nestling at her feet.A first-rate fellow she, and looked her bestWhen in a golf or walking costume dressed;In short, the other’s opposite in all,And fearfully and wonderfully tall.One day, by chance, each occupied a placeOn the same page, exactly face to face,In such a way ’t was possible no moreFor either one the other to ignore.Then in an instant burst into a flameThe fire that had been smouldering.“How cameYou here?” they both exclaimed, as with one voice.(Here I use asterisks, though not from choiceBut type has limits, and must play the dunce;When two young ladies both converse at once.)**—!—***?**!!!!!!*****!!***??———!!*********!!-----!——!-----******—!!!!!——!—!—!!I left them to their scenes.Next day I found the page insmithereens,And I reflected, “It is very sadThat two nice girls should get so awfully madAbout a thing for which, had they but known,Two artists were responsible alone.”
Two ladies, notrealladies (no offence—I don’t mean “not real ladies” inthatsense),But pictured fancies they—who dwelt betweenThe pages of a weekly magazine.Though often in the selfsame week they met,They were n’t exactly in the selfsame set,And could not know each other. One, I think,Was done in wash; the other, pen and ink.The wash lady (again there’s no offence—I use “wash” in its pure artistic sense)Was a brunette, vivacious, charming wholly;Neither too slim, nor yet too rolly-poly.A dazzling smile had this enchanting creature;Indeed, her most predominating featureWas a continuous show of glittering pearl;And on her forehead hung a little curl—A most distracting little curl; and last,She had a very slight Hebraic cast.Gray eyes the other had, serene and clear;A cold and distant manner; yet I fearHer looks belied her, for she oft was seenLounging about the beach, or ’mid the green,Of the conservatory’s dim retreat,Always some chappie nestling at her feet.A first-rate fellow she, and looked her bestWhen in a golf or walking costume dressed;In short, the other’s opposite in all,And fearfully and wonderfully tall.One day, by chance, each occupied a placeOn the same page, exactly face to face,In such a way ’t was possible no moreFor either one the other to ignore.Then in an instant burst into a flameThe fire that had been smouldering.“How cameYou here?” they both exclaimed, as with one voice.(Here I use asterisks, though not from choiceBut type has limits, and must play the dunce;When two young ladies both converse at once.)**—!—***?**!!!!!!*****!!***??———!!*********!!-----!——!-----******—!!!!!——!—!—!!I left them to their scenes.Next day I found the page insmithereens,And I reflected, “It is very sadThat two nice girls should get so awfully madAbout a thing for which, had they but known,Two artists were responsible alone.”
Two ladies, notrealladies (no offence—
I don’t mean “not real ladies” inthatsense),
But pictured fancies they—who dwelt between
The pages of a weekly magazine.
Though often in the selfsame week they met,
They were n’t exactly in the selfsame set,
And could not know each other. One, I think,
Was done in wash; the other, pen and ink.
The wash lady (again there’s no offence—
I use “wash” in its pure artistic sense)
Was a brunette, vivacious, charming wholly;
Neither too slim, nor yet too rolly-poly.
A dazzling smile had this enchanting creature;
Indeed, her most predominating feature
Was a continuous show of glittering pearl;
And on her forehead hung a little curl—
A most distracting little curl; and last,
She had a very slight Hebraic cast.
Gray eyes the other had, serene and clear;
A cold and distant manner; yet I fear
Her looks belied her, for she oft was seen
Lounging about the beach, or ’mid the green,
Of the conservatory’s dim retreat,
Always some chappie nestling at her feet.
A first-rate fellow she, and looked her best
When in a golf or walking costume dressed;
In short, the other’s opposite in all,
And fearfully and wonderfully tall.
One day, by chance, each occupied a place
On the same page, exactly face to face,
In such a way ’t was possible no more
For either one the other to ignore.
Then in an instant burst into a flame
The fire that had been smouldering.
“How came
You here?” they both exclaimed, as with one voice.
(Here I use asterisks, though not from choice
But type has limits, and must play the dunce;
When two young ladies both converse at once.)
**—!—***?**!!!!!!*****!!***??——
—!!*********!!-----!——!-----***
***—!!!!!——!—!—!!
I left them to their scenes.
Next day I found the page insmithereens,
And I reflected, “It is very sad
That two nice girls should get so awfully mad
About a thing for which, had they but known,
Two artists were responsible alone.”