Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE LADY DOCTOR, by CONSTANCE CAROLINE WOODHILL NADEN 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF A SPINSTER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EMILY HARDCASTLE, SPINSTER by JOHN CROWE RANSOM SOME FOREIGN LETTERS by ANNE SEXTON PASSPORT BLUES by MALCOLM COWLEY A SPINSTER'S STINT by ALICE CARY MY AUNT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES MEZZO CAMMIN by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A LETTER by CONSTANCE CAROLINE WOODHILL NADEN |
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