When, Lydia, you (once fond and true, <br />But now grown cold and supercilious) <br />Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms-- <br />Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious! <br /> <br />Then with despite my cheeks wax white, <br />My doddering brain gets weak and giddy, <br />My eyes o'erflow with tears which show <br />That passion melts my vitals, Liddy! <br /> <br />Deny, false jade, your escapade, <br />And, lo! your wounded shoulders show it! <br />No manly spark left such a mark-- <br />Leastwise he surely was no poet! <br /> <br />With savage buss did Telephus <br />Abraid your lips, so plump and mellow; <br />As you would save what Venus gave, <br />I charge you shun that awkward fellow! <br /> <br />And now I say thrice happy they <br />That call on Hymen to requite 'em; <br />For, though love cools, the wedded fools <br />Must cleave till death doth disunite 'em.<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-lydia/
