In the Morning

by Willis Boyd Allen

(“What’s that?” No one knows. Ask your daughter, from Vassar.)

Nay, we must admit, if perchance you should ask us,

’Twas forged in the States, and not at Damascus.

Too slim for a trinket, too large for a charm,

Too small for a weapon, too dull to do harm;

Too blunt for a bodkin, of life to deplete us,

’Twould not even serve for Hamlet’s quietus.

Cur igitur tibi gladiolum dabo—

Quemadmodum hoc explicare parabo?

Sie können nicht ganz die Verwerrung verstehen,