Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon
Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy,
Shall we seek for communion of souls
Where the deep Mississippi meanders,
Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?
Ah no,—for in Maine I will find thee
A sweetly sequestrated nook,
Where the far-winding Skoodoowabskooksis
Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook.
There wander two beautiful rivers,
With many a winding and crook;
The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis,
The other—the Skoodoowabskook.
Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned
In geography, atlas, or book,
How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis,
When joining the Skoodoowabskook!
Our cot shall be close by the waters
Within that sequestrated nook—
Reflected in Skoodoowabskooksis
And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook.
You shall sleep to the music of leaflets,
By zephyrs in wantonness shook,
And dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis,
And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook.
When awaked by the hens and the roosters,
Each morn, you shall joyously look
On the junction of Skoodoowabskooksis
With the soft gliding Skoodoowabskook.
Your food shall be fish from the waters,
Drawn forth on the point of a hook,
From murmuring Skoodoowabskooksis,
Or wandering Skoodoowabskook!
You shall quaff the most sparkling of water,
Drawn forth from a silvery brook
Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis,
And then to the Skoodoowabskook!
And you shall preside at the banquet,
And I will wait on thee as cook;
And we’ll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis,
And sing of the Skoodoowabskook!
Let others sing loudly of Saco,
Of Quoddy, and Tattamagouche,
Of Kennebeccasis, and Quaco,
Of Merigonishe, and Buctouche,
Of Nashwaak, and Magaguadavique,
Or Memmerimammericook,—
There’s none like the Skoodoowabskooksis,
Excepting the Skoodoowabskook!
Anonymous.