TO MELENDA.

I remember—do you?—the remarkable sky light

That flooded the heavens one evening in May,

How together we talked tête-à-tête in the twilight,

When the glow of the sunset had faded away.

Then you showed me your album. I looked at its pages.

With yourself as my guide and companion went through

Its contents—there were people of all sorts and ages,

But the portrait I fancied the most was—of you.

And you saw that I did. Which perhaps was the reason

Of your "No!" when I asked "May I have it?" You swore

You were going to be shot at the close of the season,

And you couldn't spare that, as there weren't any more.

But at length I prevailed, or at least you relented,

After ever so many excuses—in fine

We agreed to a compact, you only consented

On condition I gave you a portrait of mine.

Well, I promised, of course. And I write you these verses

With your face—you'll forgive me—quite close to my own.

There's a charm in your look that completely disperses

All my cares in a way that is yours, dear, alone.

And although I am pleased, since I won in the end—a

More ridiculous bargain has never, I vow,

Been arranged than a picture of pretty MELENDA,

In exchange for the photograph sent to you now.

We did not meet again through some horrible blunder,

Which a merciless Fate must be asked to explain,

And I sometimes sit smoking, and wearily wonder

If I ever am destined to see you again.

Yet wherever the future may possibly find you,

To this final request do not answer me Nay,

When I ask that this gift of myself may remind you

Of the friend who was with you that evening in May.