Chapter I: KNOW a wondrous man--my neighbor he;

He's ripe in years, and great in understanding.
He's versed in art, and in philosophy
He shows a mind that's verily commanding.

He'll stand before a painting, and without
A single instant's thought, or hesitation,
He'll tell the painter's name, nor any doubt
Is there he gives the proper information.

The rocks, the hills and valleys, hold from him
No secret that is past a man's revealing.
He knows why some are stout and others slim;
He comprehends all kinds of human feeling.

The records of the stars he knows, and each
Romance that round about the heavens lingers.
At dinner-time he oft delights to preach
On which was made the first, or forks or fingers.

Indeed, all things he knows, or high or low--
The things that fly on wing, or go a-walking--
Except one thing he never seems to know,
And that's when he should stop his endless talking.

_THE PERJURY OF A REJECTED LOVER_

WHEN I was twenty-one, I swore,
If I should ever wed,
The maiden that I should adore
Should have a classic head;
Should have a form quite Junoesque;
A manner full of grace;
A wealth of hirsute picturesque
Above a piquant face.

But I, alas! am perjured, for
I've wed a dumpy lass
I much despised in days of yore,
Of quite the plainest class,
Because each maiden of my dream,
Whose favor I did seek,
Was so opposed unto my scheme
I married Jane in pique.

_MAID OF CULTURE_

MAID of culture, ere we part,
Since we've talked of letters, art,
Science, faith, and hypnotism,
And 'most every other ism,
When you wrote, a while ago,
=Zoe mou, sas agapo,=

Let me tell you this, my dear:
Though your lettering was clear,
Though the ancient sages Greek
Would be glad to hear you speak,
They would be replete with woe
At your =mou, sas agapo=.

For, dear maiden most astute,
You have placed the mark acute
O'er omega. Take your specs.
See? It should be circumflex.
Still I love you, even though
You have written =agapo=.

_NOT PERFECT_

HER eyes are blue--a lovely hue
For eyes; her cheeks are pink,
And for the cheek, 'twixt me and you,
That color's right, I think.

Her fingers taper prettily,
Her teeth are white as pearls--
Her hands seem softer far to me
Than any other girl's.

Her figure's trim--it is petite--
I like them just that way,
And truly, maiden half so sweet
You'd not find every day.

And yet, alas! she's not my choice,
This creature of my rhyme--
Because her soft and rich-toned voice
Is going all the time.

_A CITY DWELLER'S WISH_