WHEN my young lady has grown great and staid, <br />And in long raiment wondrously arrayed, <br />She may take pleasure with a smile to know <br />How she delighted men-folk long ago. <br />For her long after, then, this tale I tell <br />Of the two fans and fairy Rosabelle. <br />Hot was the day; her weary sire and I <br />Sat in our chairs companionably nigh, <br />Each with a headache sat her sire and I. <br /> <br />Instant the hostess waked: she viewed the scene, <br />Divined the giants' languor by their mien, <br />And with hospitable care <br />Tackled at once an Atlantean chair. <br />Her pigmy stature scarce attained the seat - <br />She dragged it where she would, and with her feet <br />Surmounted; thence, a Phaeton launched, she crowned <br />The vast plateau of the piano, found <br />And culled a pair of fans; wherewith equipped, <br />Our mountaineer back to the level slipped; <br />And being landed, with considerate eyes, <br />Betwixt her elders dealt her double prize; <br />The small to me, the greater to her sire. <br />As painters now advance and now retire <br />Before the growing canvas, and anon <br />Once more approach and put the climax on: <br />So she awhile withdrew, her piece she viewed - <br />For half a moment half supposed it good - <br />Spied her mistake, nor sooner spied than ran <br />To remedy; and with the greater fan, <br />In gracious better thought, equipped the guest. <br /> <br />From ill to well, from better on to best, <br />Arts move; the homely, like the plastic kind; <br />And high ideals fired that infant mind. <br />Once more she backed, once more a space apart <br />Considered and reviewed her work of art: <br />Doubtful at first, and gravely yet awhile; <br />Till all her features blossomed in a smile. <br />And the child, waking at the call of bliss, <br />To each she ran, and took and gave a kiss.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-rosabelle/
