And once again I stared about
At the sacred relics entrancing;
In their under-petticoats all trick’d out,
On the window the women were dancing.
The sexton’s little daughter fair
Stood by me, while thus I inspected.
She had a very pretty pair
Of eyes, wherein all was reflected.
Before me the sexton’s daughter fair
From the sacred edifice skippèd;
Her mouth was small, her neck was bare,
From her bosom her kerchief had slippèd.
THE DRAGONFLY.
The dragonfly blue’s all the fashion
In beetle-land, in the present day;
The butterflies their addresses pay
To the beauty with amorous passion.
Her hips are excessively slender,
She wears a gauze dress of delicate hue,
With very symmetrical movements too
She flutters about in splendour.
Her colour’d admirers hover
In her train, and many a young gallant
Thus swears: “I’ll Holland give, and Brabant
“If thou wilt be my lover.”
She answers (but how insincerely!):
“Brabant and Holland are nothing to me,
“I want but a spark of light, to see
“In my little chamber clearly.”
When she imposes this duty,
Her lovers hasten to join in the race,
And eagerly seek, from place to place,
A spark of light for the beauty.
As soon as one sees a taper,
He blindly rushes on to his doom,
And the cruel flames the victim consume,
And his loving heart, like paper.
* * * *
It comes from Japan, this fable,
Yet even in Germany, my dear child,
Are plenty of dragonflies, devilish wild,
Perfidious, and unstable.