Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE QUEEN OF TOMPKINS SQUARE, by EDWARD NOYES POMEROY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE QUEEN OF TOMPKINS SQUARE, by                    
First Line: I met her at the mission school
Last Line: The queen of tompkins square.
Subject(s): Love - Beginnings; Single People; Bachelors; Unmarried People


I met her at the Mission School
And wooed and won her there—
The sovereign of the golden rule,
The Queen of Tompkins Square.

She was a little woman when
She made my heart her thrall;
Little I find her now as then
And yet a queen withal.

The boys she taught were sharp as sin
And rough as hickory bark;
She wiled the wily gamins in
And made them toe the mark.

In rankest "Mackerelville" they hived
Hard up against the leads;
On Sunday mornings she arrived
And hauled them from their beds.

In spite of sickening odors there,
And drunken curse and scoff,
She washed their faces, brushed their hair,
And marched the urchins off.

She made their miseries her own;
She bore their pains and smarts;
Her soft tongue broke the flinty bone,
And won their heathen hearts.

I saw these pagans Christians made,
Their dirt and squalor flee;
"The girl who made this change," I said,
"Is just the maid for me."

Her sire, a portly merchant prince,
And I a student spare;
How dared I claim (I wonder since)
The Queen of Tompkins Square?

Call me a fool or sinner's son;
An angel I would wed,
If fool I was 'tis fools rush on
Where angels fear to tread.

She bade me bend her father's will;
Her father's will was hers.
She loved me as she loves me still,
But fate might be averse.

I sought the governor not afeared,—
I was a giant then—
And let him know I came to beard
The lion in his den.

"I need a wife like her", I said,
"To make me do my best;
To conquer fear, and keep my head,
And button up my vest."

"I do not ask for less or more;
Expense shall be defrayed;
Take in your mat and lock the door,
But let me have the maid."

'Tis said some moments lucky are,
When schemes are well begun;
The wish made with the shooting-star
Is in the moment won.

The time to strike the iron is when
The stubborn bar is hot;
The time to set the wilful hen
Is when she'd lief as not.

That happy hour how well I know!
How could I well forget?
'Twas many and many a year ago
And I am happy yet.

My trustful heart he did not grieve,
But used me like an heir;
"And so I won my Genevieve,"—
The Queen of Tompkins Square.





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