The Frankfort roundabout. [volume] (Frankfort, Ky.) 1882-1908, 1895-05-25
The Request.

Please write me a poem as contribution 10
my paper for the Literary Club In our town:
FLORENCE 5.
THE ANSWER.
A poem, my dear. do you know what you ask'
And what do you think, could ins plre such atask?
The poets are creatures who sing OF the trees;
OF MAY, with its verdue and scent-laden breeze;
OF birds, as they carol their happiest note
TIL rapture Of spring. time seems splitting each
throat.
why, poets no hint Of discord must hear;
Mid harmony only their muse will appear;
And when. do you think. the moments are mine
To wander IN fancy Ger realms SO divine?
Demands most prosaic, from morning till night
The wings Of my fancy clip short In each flight
Now heads are to comb and faces to wash,
with many protest proceedings to Quash-
Refractory tangles, By dint Of much care,
Give place to smooth braids, or to ringlets more
fair;
But sounds inharmonic the process attend
Not such as with fances poetic will blend.
with buttons to fasten and buckles to clasp
The feelings are fretted as II with rasp.
With healing each garment of yesterdays rent
The muse-stirring moments Of morning are
spent,
Till I'VE little girls, all blooming and clean,
Appear on the vision beauteous scene.
All! now may the poet his numbers invoke
or theme more inspiring no poet eer spoke
Than childhood, all innocence, beauty and mirth-
No theme more enchanting affords the broad
earth.
MY Pegasus mounts the empyrean proud,
While SMILES cluster about In cloud.
Like rosebuds all sparkling in mornings bright
dew;
Like pansies, with semblance Of thought peep
ing through;
Like daisies Of Scotland the meadows among
Whose praises one Robbie" has long ago sung;
Like blossoms of apple.-Oh, dear! What Is that?
Poor Pegasus, now all in terror, falls fiat.
And, still, now think, 1t Is probably naught
But some hapless victim that boy Of mines
caught.
His sisters had caused me awhile to forget
The task cen more difficult waiting me yet
Why. boy! Saints alive! how you've riddled your
Oh! yes; dare say twas some luckless mischance
with scissors, and thimble and needle and
thread,
Again must struggle, my pencil instead
The worst is not yet, I'd forgotten to sag.
That boy number two In his cribs slowed away;
Perhaps ere stitch In this garment Is sown,
Some want most imperative he will make known.
Soon school time comes on with its hustle and
noise,
Its bevies Of mischievous maidens and boys.
And, pray. who could then poor stanza indite?
Why, Tennyson's self, when poem he'd write,
Himself IN four walls all alone must immune
From noise and intrusion there wholly secure
So, Florence. my DEAR you see 1t were vain
For me to attempt political strain.
wish had leisure--but hold! let me see
I've read 1t all over, and, sure as can be
1t scans and 1t rhymes from beginning to close
That passes for poetry oil the world knows.
A secret I've learned which to you I'll impart.
I'm sure you'll esteem 1t, and learn 1t by heart:
The lives of US women are burdened with cares;
But, bearing these burdens, we oft unawares
To poesy change the most commonplace things,
II each will but work while she cheerfully sings.
EUDORA LINDSAY SOUTH,
Jet, Franklin Co.. Ky.