The ladies of St. James's! You scarce can understand The half of all their speeches, Their phrases are so grand: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! Her shy and simple words Are clear as after rain-drops The music of the birds. The ladies of St. James's! They have their fits and freaks; They smile on you--for seconds; They frown on you--for weeks: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! Come either storm or shine, From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide, Is always true--and mine. My Phyllida! my Phyllida! I care not though they heap The hearts of all St. James's, And give me all to keep; I care not whose the beauties Of all the world may be,-- For Phyllida, my Phyllida, Is all the world to me. DORA _VERSUS_ ROSE "The Case is Proceeding" From the tragic-est novels at Mudie's-- At least on a practical plan-- To the tales of mere Hodges and Judys, One love is enough for a man. But no case that I ever yet met is Like mine: I am equally fond Of Rose, 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