Dedication
TO
PENELOPE SEARS
DEBUTANTE
To rhyme your name
With something lovely, fresh and young,
And sing the same
In measures heretofore unsung,
Is far beyond me, I’m afraid;
I’ll not attempt it, dearest maid.
No, not in verse,
Synthetic, stately, classic, chaste,
Shall I rehearse—
Although in perfectly good taste—
A catalogue of every grace
That you inherit from your race.
Gracious and kind,
The gods your beauty gave to you,
And with a mind
These same kind gods endowed you, too;
That charming union is, I fear,
Somewhat uncommon on this sphere.
I have no doubt
That scores of poets chant your fame;
No doubt, about
A million suitors press their claim;
And fashion, elegance and wit
Are at your feet inclined to sit.
Penelope,
The fire-light flickers to and fro:
In you I see
The winsome child I used to know—
My little Maiden of Romance
Still whirling in your Shadow Dance.
Though woman-grown,
To my unreconciled surprise
I gladly own
The same light lies within your eyes—
The same sweet candour which beguiled
Your rhymster when you were a child.
And so I come,
With limping verse to you again,
Amid the hum
Of that young world wherein you reign—
Only a moment to appear
And say: “Your rhymster loves you, dear.”
R. W. C.