Ev'n the frail creature with a moment's bloom, That pays your pleasure with her sacrifice, And, having first a marketable price, Grows thenceforth valueless,--ev'n such an one, Lifted a little from the mire, and purged By hands severely kind, will give to view The germ of all we honor, in the form Of all that we abhor. You fling a jewel Where wild feet tramp, and crushing wheels go by; You cannot tread the splendor from its dust; So, in the shattered relics, shimmers yet Through tears and grime, the pride of womanhood. * * * * * We must not forget the Comic Muse. Comparatively little of her humorous verse is preserved; she seldom thought it important enough to make two copies, and the first draft was often lost or given away. The following was written in the fifties, when Wulf Fries was a young and much-admired musician in Boston. Miss Mary Bigelow had invited her to her house "at nine o'clock" to hear him play, meaning nine in the morning. She took this for nine in the evening; the rest explains itself:-- Miss Mary Big'low, you who seem So debonair and kind, Pray, what the devil do you mean (If I may speak my mind) By asking me to come and hear That Wulf of yours a-Friesing, Then leaving me to cool my heels In manner so unpleasing? * * * * * With Mrs. Dr. Susan you That eve, forsooth, were tea-ing: Confess you knew that I should come, And from my wrath were fleeing! To Mrs. Dr. Susan's I Had not invited been: So when the maid said, "Best go there!" I answered, "Not so green!" Within the darksome carriage hid I bottled up my beauty, And, rather foolish, hurried home To fireside and duty. It's very pleasant, _you_ may think, On winter nights to roam; But when you next invite abroad, _This_ wolf will freeze at home!