TWO LADIES.
TO C. D. G. AND A. B. W.
Two ladies, not real ladies (no offence—
I don’t mean “not real ladies” in that sense),
But pictured fancies they—who dwelt between
The pages of a weekly magazine.
Though often in the selfsame week they met,
They were n’t exactly in the selfsame set,
And could not know each other. One, I think,
Was done in wash; the other, pen and ink.
The wash lady (again there’s no offence—
I use “wash” in its pure artistic sense)
Was a brunette, vivacious, charming wholly;
Neither too slim, nor yet too rolly-poly.
A dazzling smile had this enchanting creature;
Indeed, her most predominating feature
Was a continuous show of glittering pearl;
And on her forehead hung a little curl—
A most distracting little curl; and last,
She had a very slight Hebraic cast.
Gray eyes the other had, serene and clear;
A cold and distant manner; yet I fear
Her looks belied her, for she oft was seen
Lounging about the beach, or ’mid the green,
Of the conservatory’s dim retreat,
Always some chappie nestling at her feet.
A first-rate fellow she, and looked her best
When in a golf or walking costume dressed;
In short, the other’s opposite in all,
And fearfully and wonderfully tall.
One day, by chance, each occupied a place
On the same page, exactly face to face,
In such a way ’t was possible no more
For either one the other to ignore.
Then in an instant burst into a flame
The fire that had been smouldering.
“How came
You here?” they both exclaimed, as with one voice.
(Here I use asterisks, though not from choice
But type has limits, and must play the dunce;
When two young ladies both converse at once.)
**—!—***?**!!!!!!*****!!***??——
—!!*********!!-----!——!-----***
***—!!!!!——!—!—!!
I left them to their scenes.
Next day I found the page in smithereens,
And I reflected, “It is very sad
That two nice girls should get so awfully mad
About a thing for which, had they but known,
Two artists were responsible alone.”