HOW comes it, Flora, that, whenever we Play cards together, you invariably, However the pack parts, Still hold the Queen of Hearts? I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze, Resolved to fathom these your secret ways: But, sift them as I will, Your ways are secret still. I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again; But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain: Vain hope, vain forethought too; That Queen still falls to you. I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel: 'There should be one card more,' You said, and searched the floor. I cheated once; I made a private notch In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch; Yet such another back Deceived me in the pack: The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown An imitative dint that seemed my own; This notch, not of my doing, Misled me to my ruin. It baffles me to puzzle out the clue, Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you: Unless, indeed, it be Natural affinity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LONDON PLANE-TREE by AMY LEVY THE LOVER SHOWETH HOW HE IS FORSAKEN by THOMAS WYATT TO A LADY, WITH SOME PAINTED FLOWERS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD BRIDAL SERENADE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TRANSPORT UP AT YPRES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN EPIGRAM WRITTEN AT INVERARY by ROBERT BURNS |