ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS
Lady, in your stockings white,
As you flutter by the road,
You inspire me to write
An ode.
Though upon my manly back
There reposes half a ton,
Why repine against a pack
Or gun?
Though the fire-tressed orb
Makes mirage upon the street;
Though the baking soil absorb
My feet;
Though the Sergeants stamp and rave;
Though the Captain's eye is flame;
Pray, how should my heart behave—
The same?
I become a thing of steel,
Buoyant none the less as cork;
Radiant from hat to heel
I walk.
Lady, in your stockings white,
Don't you note my altered step?
Don't you feel, enchanting sprite,
My pep?