Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LADY DOCTOR, by CONSTANCE CAROLINE WOODHILL NADEN



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LADY DOCTOR, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Saw ye that spinster gaunt and grey
Last Line: Disconsolate and lonely.
Subject(s): Physicians; Spinsters; Women; Doctors; Old Maids


SAW ye that spinster gaunt and grey,
Whose aspect stern might well dismay
A bombardier stout-hearted?
The golden hair, the blooming face,
And all a maiden's tender grace
Long, long from her have parted.

A Doctor she -- her sole delight
To order draughts as black as night,
Powders, and pills, and lotions;
Her very glance might cast a spell
Transmuting Sherry and Moselle
To chill and acrid potions.

Yet if some rash presumptuous man
Her early life should dare to scan,
Strange things he might discover;
For in the bloom of sweet seventeen
She wandered through the meadows green
To meet a boyish lover.

She did not give him Jesuit's bark,
To brighten up his vital spark,
Nor ipecacuanha,
Nor chlorodyne, nor camomile,
But blushing looks, and many a smile,
And kisses sweet as manna.

But ah! the maiden's heart grew cold,
Perhaps she thought the youth too bold,
Perhaps his views had shocked her;
In anger, scorn, caprice, or pride,
She left her old companion's side
To be a Lady Doctor.

She threw away the faded flowers,
Gathered amid the woodland bowers,
Her lover's parting token:
If suffering bodies we relieve,
What need for wounded souls to grieve?
Why mourn, though hearts be broken?

She cared not, though with frequent moan
He wandered through the woods alone
Dreaming of past affection:
She valued at the lowest price
Men neither patients for advice
Nor subjects for dissection.

She studied hard for her degree;
At length the coveted M.D.
Was to her name appended;
Joy to that Doctor, young and fair,
With rosy cheeks and golden hair,
Learning with beauty blended.

Diseases man can scarce endure
A lady's glance may quickly cure,
E'en though the pains be chronic;
Where'er that maiden bright was seen
Her eye surpassed the best quinine,
Her smile became a tonic.

But soon, too soon, the hand of care
Sprinkled with snow her golden hair,
Her face grew worn and jaded;
Forgotten was each maiden wile,
She scarce remembered how to smile,
Her roses all were faded.

And now, she looks so grim and stern,
We wonder any heart could burn
For one so uninviting;
No gentle sympathy she shows,
She seems a man in woman's clothes,
All female graces slighting.

Yet blame her not, for she has known
The woe of living all alone,
In friendless, dreary sadness;
She longs for what she once disdained,
And sighs to think she might have gained
A home of love and gladness.

Moral.

Fair maid, if thine unfettered heart
Yearn for some busy, toilsome part,
Let that engross thee only;
But oh! if bound by love's light chain,
Leave not thy fond and faithful swain
Disconsolate and lonely.






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