A LETTER FROM A LADY IN LONDON TO A LADY AT LAUSANNE DEAR Alice! you'll laugh when you know it,-- Last week, at the Duchess's ball, I danced with the clever new poet,-- You've heard of him,--Tully St. Paul. Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic; I wish you had seen Lady Anne! It really was very romantic, He is such a talented man! He came up from Brazen nose College, Just caught, as they call it, this spring; And his head, love, is stuffed full of knowledge Of every conceivable thing. Of science and logic he chatters, As fine and as fast as he can; Though I am no judge of such matters, I'm sure he's a talented man. His stories and jests are delightful;-- Not stories or jests, dear, for you; The jests are exceedingly spiteful, The stories not always quite true. Perhaps to be kind and veracious May do pretty well at Lausanne; But it never would answer,--good gracious! Chez nous--in a talented man. He sneers,--how my Alice would scold him!-- At the bliss of a sigh or a tear; He laughed--only think!--when I told him How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year; I vow I was quite in a passion; I broke all the sticks of my fan; But sentiment's quite out of fashion, It seems, in a talented man. Lady Bab, who is terribly moral, Has told me that Tully is vain, And apt--which is silly--to quarrel, And fond--which is sad--of champagne. I listened and doubted, dear Alice, For I saw, when my Lady began, It was only the Dowager's malice;-- She does hate a talented man! He's hideous, I own it. But fame, love, Is all that these eyes can adore; He's lame,--but Lord Byron was lame, love, And dumpy,--but so is Tom Moore. Then his voice,--such a voice! my sweet creature, It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan: But oh! what's a tone or a feature, When once one's a talented man! My mother, you know, all the season, Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate; And truly, to do the fool reason, He has been less horrid of late. But to-day, when we drive in the carriage, I'll tell her to lay down her plan;-- If ever I venture on marriage, It must be a talented man! P.S.--I have found, on reflection, One fault in my friend,--entrenous; Without it, he'd just he perfection;-- Poor fellow, he has not a sou! And so, when he comes in September To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan, I've promised mamma to remember He's only a talented man! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HEROIC LOVE by JAMES GRAHAM (1612-1650) THE OLD CHURCHYARD OF BONCHURCH by PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: A LITANY IN TIME OF PLAGUE by THOMAS NASHE SONNET: 78 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE BLACK PANTHER by JOHN HALL WHEELOCK DESERT WIFE by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER COMPLAINS, BEING HIND'RED THE SIGHT OF HIS NYMPH by PHILIP AYRES |