Had half the supple grace
Of Gertrude fair of Farmington--
Perhaps you know that place?

Beneath her lips there gleam two rows
Of greed-inspiring pearls;
Such rows of teeth the gods bequeath
To but their choicest girls.
For other things at Farmington
I do not care a rap,
Although it is a lovely place--
I've seen it (on the map).

I would the gods had given me
Some mild poetic skill;
In Gertrude's praise I'd sing for days,
And volumes I could fill.
Perhaps you think I love this maid--
In sooth perhaps I do;
Well, If I did, I'd tell her--
But, by Jove, I'd not tell _you._

J.H. Scranton
_Yale Record._


~My Politics.~

I am for gold--her golden hair
Whose mesh my soul entrances;