A MISTY CRYSTAL.
Darlings, I am growing old,
Silver threads among the gold.
Cannot see beyond my nose,
Must have glasses I suppose.
At the fair I bought a pair,
Golden rimmed, of pebbles rare,
Paid the money then and there,
Glad my spectacles to wear.
But, how strange! I could not see
What was just in front of me!
Took them off and rubbed them well;
Cleaned they seemed; but, strange to tell,
When I put them on again
Everything was plain as plain,
But reflected from behind!
Then I found that tho' so blind,
Many little things I saw
Which I had not seen before.
First, my page, of doubtful age,
Put me in a dreadful rage;
Dipped his fingers in the cream;
(Turned and faced him—made him scream!)
Dropped the pot, upset a lot—
Caught it from me pretty hot.
Next the footman kicked my cat
Sleeping on its lamb's-wool mat.
Loosed my dicky from its cage
(Shall deduct this from his wage).
When the housemaid scrubbed the floor,
Watched her through the open door
At my eldest making eyes.
Packed her off to her surprise,
Heeding not her tears and cries.
Truly blindness makes one wise!
Then I caught my little son
Putting mustard in a bun;
Going to give it to the pug.
Seized him by the nearest lug,
Boxed it hard. He howled with pain;
Never teased the dog again.
Saw my girl of twenty-three
Kiss the curate, after tea.
Sent the pair to right about.
(Wondered how I found them out!)
So, you see, I really find
Much amusement of a kind.
Eyes before and eyes behind,
Is there anyone would mind
Being just a little blind?
