St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1890-10-25
Plants from the Girls.

The testimony this summer as to the
failure of our young men to be gallant OF
even be at the seaside resort comes 100
thick not to receive comprehensive notice.
From spots where the atmosphere once
chuckled with the sweet chickering's OF
small talk. Al heard only feminine solilo-
auies lamenting solitude, Rocks which
all along the coast used to hear nothing
but summer declarations and the prelim-
mary converse thereto, now listen solely
to the one-keyed wall of deserted woraAa-
hood. For example, the sad Androme da
OF our esteemed conuempory, Life, sings
thus psthetically in behalf of her sex:
We sit Il groups upon the beach.
fluffy mass of summer dresses.
We break in little waves of speech,
We give each other quick careS9es
But though our laughter echoes gay,
Above the crowds persistent hunmtng,
Our thoughts are very far away;
We wonder when the men are coming.
''Oh, careless youth, in flannel clad
Why waste this golden, perfect weather.
Let every lassie and her lad
Go roaming DER the rocks together,
For youth is brief, and time flies fast,
And waits for none; the more's the pity,
The summer time will soon be past.
And autumn drive us to the city,
The nymph who adopts Munsey's
Weekly as her organ chants her loneli-
ness in less original measure, but to the
same effect
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, o sea,
But oh or the presence or just one man
To come and make love to me
And well for every one,
For every one but me,
Oh, to be anywhere under the sun.
Except by the tiresome sea
Break, break, break
On thy cold gray stones, o sea
I'd give my fortune for just one man
To come and make love to me-
In the Yankee Blade more analytical
but none the less rebellious spinster puts
the prevailing thoughts ard situation of
her colleagues into verses in which the
high poetic faculty doesn't in the slightest
degree soften the hard, practical Sense
with which this unwonted fact is consd-
cred:
The Atlantic Ocean is a tolerabe ocean.
Perhaps desirable sea,
And the waves on the beach are good enough
waves
But not good enough waves for me.
And the sky above is pretty fair sky,
rhe surf there are many to laud,
But there's no man in sight from morning TO
night,
And think the whole thing is fraud
For the waves as they curl,
With their swish and their swirl,
Without young man a'e bore to girl.
The Atlantic Ocean is popular ocean
With people fond of the sea,
But the sea without men Is dull kind o. thing.
And it's no kind of ocean for me-
They rave DER the glow of the sunset sea
And the moon with its lane of light.
But In the broad day or beneath the moons ray
There's never man in sight,
And the sun and the shade
And the moon, I'm afraid,
Without young man are bore to maid.
The Atlantic Ocean Is a good enough ocean,
pretty well advertised sea;
But without the young man and all that sort of
thing
It's no kind of ocean for me.
know that the poets have sung of the sea
AS oft silly poets will sing;
But bare stretch of beach and no man within
reach
Is very lugubrous thing.
. And the summer hotel
And the surf and the swell
Without young man are bore TO BELLE
In all our experience we can recall no
such plants from our coasts nor any such
class of poems: involving as they do
question of the heart, they are too COM
plex for Inland explanation. But what
is the matter with the young menu Are
they spiritless, selfish, poor, unwell, or
have they taken to the woods IN Y. Sun.