TO D. M. M.
Greeks once sang a lovely song
To their maiden Cora;
But my lay floats soft along
To my Dainty Dora.
Frenchmen sing of Anne Belle,
Romans sang of Flora;
But I sing my song to tell
Of my Dainty Dora.
Scotchmen sing their songs to move
Mary or Debora;
But I sing my song of love—
Love for Dainty Dora.
Poets now a song may give
Psyche or Lenora;
But I'll sing long as I live
Just for Dainty Dora!
THE VIOLIN
Thrice hail the still unconquered King of Song!
For all adore and love the Master Art
That reareth his throne in temple of the heart;
And smiteth chords of passion full and strong
Till music sweet allures the sorrowing throng!
Then by the gentle curving of his bow
Maketh every mellow note in cadence flow,
To recompense the world of all its wrong.
Although the earth is full of cares and throes
That tempt the crimson stream of life to cloy,
Thou mak'st glad hearts and trip'st "fantastic toes,"
And fillest weary souls with mirth and joy—
The soul-entrancing cadence of thy strings
Proclaims thee Song's unconquered "King of kings"!