A LETTER FROM A LADY IN LONDON TO A LADY AT LAUSANNE DEAR Alice! you'll laugh when you know it,-- Last week, at the Duchess's ball, I danced with the clever new poet,-- You've heard of him,--Tully St. Paul. Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic; I wish you had seen Lady Anne! It really was very romantic, He is such a talented man! He came up from Brazen nose College, Just caught, as they call it, this spring; And his head, love, is stuffed full of knowledge Of every conceivable thing. Of science and logic he chatters, As fine and as fast as he can; Though I am no judge of such matters, I'm sure he's a talented man. His stories and jests are delightful;-- Not stories or jests, dear, for you; The jests are exceedingly spiteful, The stories not always quite true. Perhaps to be kind and veracious May do pretty well at Lausanne; But it never would answer,--good gracious! Chez nous--in a talented man. He sneers,--how my Alice would scold him!-- At the bliss of a sigh or a tear; He laughed--only think!--when I told him How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year; I vow I was quite in a passion; I broke all the sticks of my fan; But sentiment's quite out of fashion, It seems, in a talented man. Lady Bab, who is terribly moral, Has told me that Tully is vain, And apt--which is silly--to quarrel, And fond--which is sad--of champagne. I listened and doubted, dear Alice, For I saw, when my Lady began, It was only the Dowager's malice;-- She does hate a talented man! He's hideous, I own it. But fame, love, Is all that these eyes can adore; He's lame,--but Lord Byron was lame, love, And dumpy,--but so is Tom Moore. Then his voice,--such a voice! my sweet creature, It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan: But oh! what's a tone or a feature, When once one's a talented man! My mother, you know, all the season, Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate; And truly, to do the fool reason, He has been less horrid of late. But to-day, when we drive in the carriage, I'll tell her to lay down her plan;-- If ever I venture on marriage, It must be a talented man! P.S.--I have found, on reflection, One fault in my friend,--entrenous; Without it, he'd just he perfection;-- Poor fellow, he has not a sou! And so, when he comes in September To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan, I've promised mamma to remember He's only a talented man! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WESTERN CIVILIZATION by JAMES GALVIN MY BOY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PENT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TRIFLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCOIS-MARIE AROUET (DE VOLTAIRE) by EZRA POUND |