ose, who a charming brunette is,
And Dora, a blonde.

Each rivals the other in powers--
Each waltzes, each warbles, each paints--
Miss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers;
Miss Do., perpendicular saints.
In short, to distinguish is folly;
'Twixt the pair I am come to the pass
Of Macheath, between Lucy and Polly,--
Or Buridan's ass.

If it happens that Rosa I've singled
For a soft celebration in rhyme,
Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled
Somehow with the tune and the time;
Or I painfully pen me a sonnet
To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s,
And behold I am writing upon it
The legend, "To Rose."

Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter
Is all over scrawled with her head),
If I fancy at last that I've got her,
It turns to her rival instead;
Or I find myself placidly adding
To the rapturous tresses of Rose
Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding,
Ineffable nose.

Was there ever so sad a dilemma?
For Rose I would perish (_pro tem._);
For Dora I'd willingly stem a--
(Whatever might offer to stem);
But to make the invidious election,--
To declare that on either one's side
I've a scruple,--a grain,--more affection,
I _cannot_ decide.

And as either so hopelessly nice is,
My sole and my final resource
Is to wait some indefinite crisis,--
Some feat of molecular force,
To solve me this riddle conducive
By no means to peace or repose,
Since the issue can scarce be inclusive
Of Dora _and_ Rose.

(AFTER-THOUGHT)

But perhaps if a third (say, a Norah),
Not quite so delightful as Rose,
Nor wholly so charming as Dora,
Should appear, is it wrong to suppose,--
As the claims of the others are equal,--
And flight--in the main--is the best,--
That I might ... But no matter,--the sequel
Is easily guessed.

UNE MARQUISE

A RHYMED MONOLOGUE IN THE LOUVRE

"Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour."
--MOLIERE.

I

As you sit there at your ease,
O Marquise!
And the men flock round your knees
Thick as bees,
Mute at every word you utter,
Servants to your least frill-flutter,
"_Belle Marquise!_"
As you sit there, growing prouder,