Verse > Anthologies > Fuess and Stearns, eds. > The Little Book of Society Verse
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Fuess and Stearns, comps.  The Little Book of Society Verse.  1922.
 
To Fanny
By Thomas Moore
 
NEVER mind how the pedagogue proses,
  You want not antiquity’s stamp;
The lip, that such fragrance discloses,
  Oh! never should smell of the lamp.
 
Old Chloe, whose withering kisses        5
  Have long set the Loves at defiance,
Now, done with the science of blisses,
  May fly to the blisses of science!
 
Young Sappho, for want of employments,
  Alone o’er her Ovid may melt,        10
Condemned but to read of enjoyments,
  Which wiser Corinna had felt.
 
But for you to be buried in books—
  Oh, Fanny! they’re pitiful sages;
Who could not in one of your looks        15
  Read more than in millions of pages!
 
Astronomy finds in your eyes
  Better light than she studies above,
And Music must borrow your sighs
  As the melody fittest for Love.        20
 
In Ethics—’t is you that can check,
  In a minute, their doubts and their quarrels;
Oh! show but that mole on your neck,
  And ’t will soon put an end to their morals.
 
Your Arithmetic only can trip        25
  When to kiss and to count you endeavor;
But eloquence glows on your lip
  When you swear that you ’ll love me forever.
 
Thus you see what a brilliant alliance
  Of arts is assembled in you,—        30
A course of more exquisite science
  Man need never wish to pursue.
 
And, oh!—if a Fellow like me
  May confer a diploma of hearts,
With my lip thus I seal your degree,        35
  My divine little Mistress of Arts!
 
 
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