TO
PENELOPE SEARS
DEBUTANTE
_To rhyme your name
With something lovely, fresh and young,
And sing the same
In measures heretofore unsung,
Is far beyond me, I'm afraid;
I'll not attempt it, dearest maid._
_No, not in verse,
Synthetic, stately, classic, chaste,
Shall I rehearse--
Although in perfectly good taste--
A catalogue of every grace
That you inherit from your race._
_Gracious and kind,
The gods your beauty gave to you,
And with a mind
These same kind gods endowed you, too;
That charming union is, I fear,
Somewhat uncommon on this sphere._
_I have no doubt
That scores of poets chant your fame;
No doubt, about
A million suitors press their claim;
And fashion, elegance and wit
Are at your feet inclined to sit._
_Penelope,
The fire-light flickers to and fro:
In you I see
The winsome child I used to know--
My little Maiden of Romance
Still whirling in your Shadow Dance._
_Though woman-grown,
To my unreconciled surprise
I gladly own
The same light lies within your eyes--
The same sweet candour which beguiled
Your rhymster when you were a child._
_And so I come,
With limping verse to you again,
Amid the hum
Of that young world wherein you reign--
Only a moment to appear
And say: "Your rhymster loves you, dear."_
_R. W. C._