Name the leaves on all the trees,
Name the waves on all the seas,
Name the notes of all the groves,
Thus thou namest all my loves.
I do love the young, the old,
Maiden modest, virgin bold;
Tiny beauties and the tall—
Earth has room enough for all!
Which is better—who can say?—
Mary grave or Lucy gay?
She who half her charms conceals,
She who flashes while she feels?
Why should I my love confine?
Why should fair be mine or thine?
If I praise a tulip, why
Should I pass the primrose by?
Paris was a pedant fool
Meting beauty by the rule:
Pallas? Juno? Venus?—he
Should have chosen all the three!
—John Stuart Blackie
Cupid Mistaken
Venus whipt Cupid t'other day,
For having lost his bow and quiver;
For he had given them both away
To Stella, queen of Isis river.
"Mamma! you wrong me while you strike,"
Cried weeping Cupid, "for I vow,
Stella and you are so alike,
I thought that I had lent them you."
—William Somerville