JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY. Brown Magazine.
~O Mores!~
Cupid's bow is lying broken,
Fallen on the ground,
And his arrows all with blunted
Points are strewn around.
For to reach our modern hearts
Powerless are the blind god's darts,
From his rosy shoulders stripped;
Since, to pierce the breasts so cold,
Shafts must always be of gold,
Arrows must be diamond-tipped.
ALBERT ELLSWORTH THOMAS. Brunonian.
~Which?~
Blonde or brunette? Shall Ethel fair,
My winter girl, with golden hair,
Or Maud, whose dark brown eyes bewitch,—
My summer girl,—now govern?
Which?
Shall cold Bostonianism rule?
Shall Love teach Browning in his school?
Or shall coy glances, passion-rich,
Compel my fond allegiance?
Which?
And yet the solving's really clear.
For winter's gone and summer's here.
I want no statue in a niche,
So Cupid says, "Let Maud be
'Which!'"
W.C. NICHOLS. Harvard Lampoon.
~Then and Now.~