fair-haired youth whose fleet, light feet perplex me
By ledges rude, on paths uncouth, and broken ways that vex me?

"Ah, turn to me! else violent sleep shall track the cunning lover;
And thou wilt wait and thou wilt weep when I his haunts discover."

But golden Galatea laughed, and Thosa's son, like thunder,
Broke through a rifty runnel shaft, and dashed its rocks asunder,

And poised the bulk, and hurled the stone, and crushed the hidden Acis,
And struck with sorrow drear and lone the sweetest of all faces.

To Zeus, the mighty Father, she, with plaint and prayer, departed:
Then from fierce Aetna to the sea a fountained water started--

A lucent stream of lutes and lights--cool haunt of flower and feather,
Whose silver days and yellow nights made years of hallowed weather.

Here Galatea used to come, and rest beside the river;
Because, in faint, soft, blowing foam, her shepherd lived for ever.

Black Kate

Kate, they say, is seventeen--
Do not count her sweet, you know.
Arms of her are rather lean--
Ditto, calves and feet, you know.
Features of Hellenic type
Are not patent here, you see.
Katie loves a black clay pipe--
Doesn't hate her beer, you see.

Spartan Helen used to wear
Tresses in a plait, perhaps:
Kate has ochre in her hair--
Nose is rather flat, perhaps.
Rose Lorraine's surpassing dress
Glitters at the ball, you see:
Daughter of the wilderness
Has no dress at all, you see.

Laura's lovers every day
In sweet verse embody her:
Katie's have a different way,
Being frank, they "waddy" her.
Amy by her suitor kissed,
Every nightfall looks for him:
Kitty's sweetheart isn't missed--
Kitty "humps" and cooks for him.

Smith, and Brown, and Jenkins, bring
Roses to the fair, you know.
Darkies at their Katie fling
Hunks of native bear, you know.
English girls examine well
All the food they take, you twig:
Kate is hardly keen of smell--
Kate will eat a snake, you twig.

Yonder lady's sitting room--
Clean and cool and dark it is:
Kitty's chamber needs no broom--
Just a sheet of bark it is.
You may find a pipe or two
If you poke and grope about:
Not a bit of starch or blue--
Not a sign of soap about.

Girl I know reads _Lalla Rookh_--
Poem of the "heady" sort:
Kate is better as a cook
Of the