"IN THE KEY OF RUTHENE."
[The most gorgeous red yet discovered has lately been produced from the rare metal rüthenium.]
Who'll sell me a second-hand lyre and a plectrum,
Or (since it's the fashion) a mandoline?
Con amore I'd sing the new shade of the spectrum—
No spook, though it haunts me—its name is Ruthene.
Nay, don't be alarmed, for I'm no supersubtle
Decadent bard with an eye full of green;
I merely (to copy the late Captain Cuttle)
Am "making a note" in the key of Ruthene.
Well, R's a red letter, you see its ray glow forth—
Look in your "dic" if you doubt what I mean;
Red, rufous, rouge, ruddy, rose, russet, and so forth,
Have all rolling r's like resplendent Ruthene.
More "clamant" than carmine, vermilion, crimson,
Costlier than diamond or ultramarine—
A deuce of a theme to chant lyrics or hymns on,
Or rummage for orotund "rot," is Ruthene.
Orange-hued are the Odalisque's henna-dyed fingers,
English girls' lips are encarnadine;
A rubicund flame round the toper's nose lingers—
But I'm blest if they rival the blush of Ruthene.
Pink huntsman, gules ensign, deep flush of the sunset,
Cardinal's scarlet, "red" gold have I seen,
With red ruin, red rhubarb, red herring—but none set
My iris afire as does red-hot Ruthene.
The quest, though, is simpler of Roc's egg or Sangreal,
Easier to fashion a flying machine,
Than for my Muse to fake up (forgive Cockney slang) real
Readable rhymes in praise of Ruthene.