A Nice Correspondent!
The glow and the glory are plighted
To darkness, for evening is come;
The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted;
The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb.
I’m alone at my casement, for Pappy
Is summoned to dinner at Kew:
I’m alone, my dear Fred, but I’m happy,—
I’m thinking of you.
I wish you were here. Were I duller
Than dull, you’d be dearer than dear;
I am dressed in your favorite color,—
Dear Fred, how I wish you were here!
I am wearing my lazuli necklace,
The necklace you fastened askew!
Was there ever so rude or so reckless
A darling as you?
I want you to come and pass sentence
On two or three books with a plot;
Of course you know “Janet’s Repentance”?
I’m reading Sir Waverley Scott,
The story of Edgar and Lucy,
How thrilling, romantic, and true;
The master (his bride was a goosey!)
Reminds me of you.
To-day, in my ride, I’ve been crowning
The beacon; its magic still lures,
For up there you discoursed about Browning,
That stupid old Browning of yours.
His vogue and his verve are alarming,
I’m anxious to give him his due;
But, Fred, he’s not nearly so charming
A poet as you.
I heard how you shot at The Beeches,
I saw how you rode Chanticleer,
I have read the report of your speeches,
And echoed the echoing cheer.
There’s a whisper of hearts you are breaking,—
I envy their owners, I do!
Small marvel that Fortune is making
Her idol of you.
Alas for the world, and its dearly
Bought triumph, and fugitive bliss!
Sometimes I half wish I were merely
A plain or a penniless miss;
But perhaps one is best with a measure
Of pelf, and I’m not sorry, too,
That I’m pretty, because it’s a pleasure,
My dearest, to you.
Your whim is for frolic and fashion,
Your taste is for letters and art;
This rhyme is the commonplace passion
That glows in a fond woman’s heart.
Lay it by in a dainty deposit
For relics,—we all have a few!—
Love, some day they’ll print it, because it
Was written to you.
Frederick Locker.