Chapter I: TOOK her dainty eyes, as well

As silken tendrils of her hair:
And so I made a Villanelle!

I took her voice, a silver bell,
As clear as song, as soft as prayer;
I took her dainty eyes as well.

It may be, said I, who can tell,
These things shall be my less despair?
And so I made a Villanelle!

I took her whiteness virginal
And from her cheek two roses rare:
I took her dainty eyes as well.

I said: “It may be possible
Her image from my heart to tear!”
And so I made a Villanelle.

I stole her laugh, most musical:
I wrought it in with artful care;
I took her dainty eyes as well;
And so I made a Villanelle.
_Ernest Dowson._

L’ENVOI

GO, pretty Rose, and to her tell
All I would say, could I but see
The slender form I know so well,
The roguish eyes that laughed at me.

And when your fragrance fills the room,
Tell her of all I hope and fear;
With every breath of sweet perfume,
Whisper my greetings in her ear.

But, Roses, stay—there is one thing
You must not mention (don’t forget,
For it might be embarrassing),
And that is, you’re not paid for yet!
_E. B. Reed._

A MERRY BLUE-EYED LADDIE

A MERRY blue-eyed laddie goes laughing through the town,
Singing, “Hey, but the world is a gay, gay, place!”
And every little lassie smooths her tumbled locks a-down,
And brings out all her dimples and hides away her frown,
And lays aside her broom and mop, the bonnie boy to chase,
Singing, “Hey, but the world is a gay, gay place!”

But away the blue-eyed laddie goes to seek another town,
Singing, “Hey, but the world is a gay, gay place!”
Then every dimple vanishes, and back comes every frown,
And every little lassie folds away her Sunday gown,
With tear-drops trickling sadly down her woful little face,
Sighing, “Hey, but the world is a sad, sad place!”
_Juliet Wilbour Tompkins._

DANCE TIME

IT’S I live in a very wise town
As all wise people know:
They read, they write, they read all day
As orchard-trees do grow.

Said I,—I was a young thing then,
And a foolish young thing, too,—
“I will not spend my little life thus;
There’s much I’d rather do.

“For I would rather look at you
This way, with happy looks,
Than lose the stars from my two eyes
With poring over books.

“I’d rather far be red and white
For stupid folks to see
Than write nine books for little dull worms
To eat them, leisurely.

“And I would rather have it said
When all my days are through,
‘O she was good to see and hear
And say Good-morning to!’

“When learning makes you white and red
And fresh as west-winds blow,
I may spend sun and candle-light
To learn what they all know.

“But O, the wise in this wise town,
They have no longer prime.
And there are fewer wise men, now,
Than once upon a time!”

_Josephine Preston Peabody Marks._

HOW LIKE A WOMAN