C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Ode: ‘May fewer roses calls her own’

MAY fewer roses calls her own,

And fewer vines wreathe Autumn’s throne,

Fewer the wheat-ears of the field,—

Than all the songs that Fanny’s smiles

And Fanny’s eyes and witching wiles

Inspire my lips and lyre to yield.

The secret longings of my heart

In words of fire to being start,

Moved by the magic of her name:

As when from ocean’s depths the shell

Yields up the pearl it wrought so well,

Worthy the Sultan’s diadem.

And thus from out the mulberry leaves

The Cathay silkworm twines and weaves

Her sparkling web of palest gold.

Come, dear, my Muse has silk more pure

And bright than hers, that shall endure,

And all your loveliness enfold.

And pearls of poetry divine

With rosy fingers she shall twine,

To make a necklace rich and rare;

Come, Fanny, and that snowy neck

Let me with radiant jewels deck,

Although no pearl is half so fair.