"YOU CAME TO TEA."
In spite of Fate invincible,
Of lack of wit, and lack of gold,
Of pictures that too cheaply sell,
Or pictures never sold,
Oh, yet, when I am old and grey,
If old and grey I live to be,
I shall recall one happy day,
The day you came to tea!
You came. Of course I am aware
You did not, could not, come alone.
You were between the millionaire
And a stout chaperon.
My work they called to criticise,
But what they said I do not know,
For gleams of laughter in your eyes
That seemed to come and go.
The hurrying moments how I rued!
There flashed a scheme into my brain.
With unexpected tea, I would
My visitors detain.
The ever-willing household slave
Into my service I impressed;
To her my tea, my gold I gave,
She vowed to do the rest.
That tea was strong, for all my hoard,
Some half a pound, two shilling tea,
Into the teapot had been poured—
Only the milk—ah me!
So pallid, comfortless a stream,
Into your cup I saw it glide.
For a true jug of country cream
I felt I would have died!
But with the cake I was content,
Its richness no one could mistake,
For my whole store the slave had spent
On a superior cake.
'Twas all in layers, almonded,
And crowned with white and rosy ice:
"What a delightful cake!" you said;
"But, please, a smaller slice!"
I flushed and stammered. I suspect
A pound I'd cut you unaware.
On what I did could I reflect
When you were sitting there?
That revel, ah, how soon 'twas o'er!
How swiftly came the moment when
After my guests I shut the door,
I mounted to my den.
Then down I sat beside the wall,
And, feeling doubtful and amazed,
I strove your accent to recall
As at your chair I gazed.
I heard your soft laugh echo through
The dingy room grown dear to me,
Where now was silence; and I knew
That you had been to tea!
