Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter

Is all overscrawled with her head),

If I fancy at last that I've got her,

It turns to her rival instead ;

Or I find myself placidly adding

To the rapturous tresses of Rose

Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding,

Ineffable nose.

Was there ever so sad a dilemma ?

For Rose I would perish (pro tem.);

For Dora I'd willingly stem a-

(Whatever might offer to stem);

But to make the invidious election,

To declare that on either one's side

I've a scruple, a grain, more affection,

I cannot decide.

And, as either so hopelessly nice is,

My sole and my final resource

Is to wait some indefinite crisis,—

Some feat of molecular force,

To solve me this riddle conducive

By no means to peace or repose,

Since the issue can scarce be inclusive

Of Dora and Rose.

(Afterthought.)

But, perhaps, if a third (say a Norah),

Not quite so delightful as Rose,—

Not wholly so charming as Dora,—

Should appear, is it wrong to suppose,—

As the claims of the others are equal,

And flight—in the main-is the best,—

That I might... But no matter, the sequel Is easily guessed.

IN TOWN.

(PANTOUM.)

"The blue fly sung in the pane."-TENNYSON.

JUNE in the zenith is torrid,

(There is that woman again !)

Here, with the sun on one's forehead, Thought gets dry in the brain.

There is that woman again :

"Strawberries! fourpence a pottle!"

Thought gets dry in the brain;

Ink gets dry in the bottle.

“Buzz" goes a fly in the pane ;

Bluebottles drive me crazy!

Where one might lie and be lazy!
Careless of town and all in it!

Bluebottles drive me crazy :

I shall go mad in a minute!

Careless of town and all in it,

With some one to soothe and to still you;

I shall go mad in a minute ;

Bluebottle, then I shall kill you!

With some one to soothe and to still you,

As only one's feminine kin do ;

Bluebottle, then I shall kill you:

There now! I've broken the window !

As only one's feminine kin do,

Some muslin-clad Mabel or May!

There now! I've broken the window !

Bluebottle's off and away !

Some muslin-clad Mabel or May,
To dash one with eau de Cologne ;
Bluebottle's off and away;

And why should I stay here alone!

To dash one with eau de Cologne,

All over one's talented forehead!

And why should I stay here alone !—
JUNE in the zenith is torrid.