| "'MISS Blank—at Blank.' Jemima, let it go!"
—Austin Dobson. | |
New York, July 20, 1883.
DEAR
GIRL: | |
| The town goes on as though | |
| It thought you still were in it; | |
| The gilded cage seems scarce to know | 5 |
| That it has lost its linnet; | |
| The people come, the people pass; | |
| The clock keeps on a-ticking: | |
| And through the basement plots of grass | |
| Persistent weeds are pricking. | 10 |
| |
| I thought 't would never come—the Spring— | |
| Since you had left the City: | |
| But on the snow-drifts lingering | |
| At last the skies took pity, | |
| Then Summer's yellow warmed the sun, | 15 |
| Daily decreasing distance— | |
| I really don't know how 't was done | |
| Without your kind assistance. | |
| |
| Aunt Van, of course, still holds the fort: | |
| I 've paid the call of duty; | 20 |
| She gave me one small glass of port— | |
| 'T was '34 and fruity. | |
| The furniture was draped in gloom | |
| Of linen brown and wrinkled; | |
| I smelt in spots about the room | 25 |
| The pungent camphor sprinkled. | |
| |
| I sat upon the sofa, where | |
| You sat and dropped your thimble— | |
| You know—you said you did n't care; | |
| But I was nobly nimble. | 30 |
| On hands and knees I dropped, and tried | |
| To—well, I tried to miss it: | |
| You slipped your hand down by your side— | |
| You knew I meant to kiss it! | |
| |
| Aunt Van, I fear we put to shame | 35 |
| Propriety and precision: | |
| But, praised be Love, that kiss just came | |
| Beyond your line of vision. | |
| Dear maiden aunt! the kiss, more sweet | |
| Because 't is surreptitious, | 40 |
| You never stretched a hand to meet, | |
| So dimpled, dear, delicious. | |
| |
| I sought the Park last Saturday; | |
| I found the Drive deserted; | |
| The water-trough beside the way | 45 |
| Sad and superfluous spurted. | |
| I stood where Humboldt guards the gate, | |
| Bronze, bumptious, stained and streaky— | |
| There sat a sparrow on his pate, | |
| A sparrow chirp and cheeky. | 50 |
| |
| Ten months ago! ten months ago!— | |
| It seems a happy second, | |
| Against a life-time lone and slow, | |
| By Love's wild time-piece reckoned— | |
| You smiled, by Aunt's protecting side, | 55 |
| Where thick the drags were massing, | |
| On one young man who did n't ride, | |
| But stood and watched you passing. | |
| |
| I haunt Purssell's—to his amaze— | |
| Not that I care to eat there; | 60 |
| But for the dear clandestine days | |
| When we two had to meet there. | |
| Oh, blessed is that baker's bake, | |
| Past cavil and past question; | |
| I ate a bun for your sweet sake, | 65 |
| And Memory helped Digestion. | |
| |
| The Norths are at their Newport ranch; | |
| Van Brunt has gone to Venice; | |
| Loomis invites me to the Branch, | |
| And lures me with lawn-tennis. | 70 |
| O bustling barracks by the sea! | |
| O spiles, canals, and islands! | |
| Your varied charms are naught to me— | |
| My heart is in the Highlands! | |
| |
| My paper trembles in the breeze | 75 |
| That all too faintly flutters | |
| Among the dusty city trees, | |
| And through my half-closed shutters: | |
| A northern captive in the town, | |
| Its native vigor deadened, | 80 |
| I hope that, as it wandered down, | |
| Your dear pale cheek it reddened. | |
| |
| I 'll write no more. A vis-à-vis | |
| In halcyon vacation | |
| Will sure afford a much more free | 85 |
| Mode of communication; | |
| I 'm tantalized and cribbed and checked | |
| In making love by letter: | |
| I know a style more brief, direct— | |
| And generally better! | 90 |
