SUZANNE CARROLL
Though J. H. jeer
And "Smith" incline to frown,
I do not fear
To write these verses down
And publish them in town.
The solemn world knows well that I'm no poet;
So what care I if two gay scoffers know it?
Buck up, my Muse!
Wing high thy skyward way,
And don't refuse
To let me say my say
As bravely as I may.
To praise a lady fair I father verses,
Which Admiration cradles, Homage nurses.
For you, Suzanne,
Long since have won my heart;
You break it, too,
And leave the same to smart full sore
Whenever you depart for Baltimore.
You're charming;—and in metre I endeavour
To say you are as winsome as you're clever.
Winsome and wise,
Subtle in maiden's lore,
With wondrous eyes—
Alas for Baltimore,
That grows this rose no more!
As for Manhattan, that benign old vulture
Wins one more prize in fancy horticulture.
So now to you
I dedicate this tale;
It's neither new
Nor altogether stale,—
Nor can completely fail,
For your bright name as sponsor for my story
Assures the author of reflected glory.
R. W. C.
