Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, EVOLUTIONARY EROTICS: THE NEW ORTHODOXY, by CONSTANCE CAROLINE WOODHILL NADEN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

EVOLUTIONARY EROTICS: THE NEW ORTHODOXY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: So, dear fred, you're not content
Last Line: Amy.
Subject(s): Science; Scientists


SO, dear Fred, you're not content
Though I quote the books you lent,
And I've kept that spray you sent
Of the milk-white heather;
For you fear I'm too "advanced"
To remember all that chanced
In the old days, when we danced,
Walked, and rode together.

Trust me, Fred, beneath the curls
Of the most "advanced" of girls,
Many a foolish fancy whirls,
Bidding Fact defiance,
And the simplest village maid
Needs not to be much afraid
Of her sister, sage and staid,
Bachelor of Science.

Ah! while yet our hope was new
Guardians thought 'twould never do
That Sir Frederick's heir should woo
Little Amy Merton:
So the budding joy they snatched
From our hearts, so meetly matched --
You to Oxford they despatched,
Me they sent to Girton.

Were the vows all writ in dust!
No -- you're one-and-twenty -- just --
And you write -- "We will, we must
Now, at once, be married!"
Nay, you plan the wedding trip!
Softly, sir! there's many a slip
Ere the goblet to the lip
Finally is carried.

Oh, the wicked tales I hear!
Not that you at Ruskin jeer,
Nor that at Carlyle you sneer,
With his growls dyspeptic:
But that, having read in vain
Huxley, Tyndall, Clifford, Bain,
All the scientific train --
You're a hardened sceptic!

Things with fin, and claw, and hoof
Join to give us perfect proof
That our being's warp and woof
We from near and far win;
Yet your flippant doubts you vaunt,
And -- to please a maiden aunt --
You've been heard to say you can't
Pin your faith to Darwin!

Then you jest, because Laplace
Said this Earth was nought but gas
Till the vast rotating mass
Denser grew and denser:
Something worse they whisper too,
But I'm sure it can't be true --
For they tell me, Fred, that you
Scoff at Herbert Spencer!

Write -- or telegraph -- or call!
Come yourself and tell me all:
No fond hope shall me enthrall,
No regret shall sway me:
Yet -- until the worst is said,
Till I know your faith is dead,
I remain, dear doubting Fred,
Your believing
AMY.





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