WHEN my young lady has grown great and staid, And in long raiment wondrously arrayed, She may take pleasure with a smile to know How she delighted men-folk long ago.
For her long after, then, this tale I tell Of the two fans and fairy Rosabelle.
Hot was the day; her weary sire and I
Sat in our chairs companionably nigh, Each with a headache sat her sire and I.
Instant the hostess waked: she viewed the scene, Divined the giants' languor by their mien, And with hospitable care Tackled at once an Atlantean chair.
Her pigmy stature scarce attained the seat -She dragged it where she would, and with her feet Surmounted; thence, a Phaeton launched, she crowned The vast plateau of the piano, found And culled a pair of fans; wherewith equipped, Our mountaineer back to the level slipped;And being landed, with considerate eyes, Betwixt her elders dealt her double prize;The small to me, the greater to her sire.
As painters now advance and now retire Before the growing canvas, and anon Once more approach and put the climax on:
So she awhile withdrew, her piece she viewed -For half a moment half supposed it good -Spied her mistake, nor sooner spied than ran To remedy; and with the greater fan, In gracious better thought, equipped the guest.
From ill to well, from better on to best, Arts move; the homely, like the plastic kind;And high ideals fired that infant mind.
Once more she backed, once more a space apart Considered and reviewed her work of art:
Doubtful at first, and gravely yet awhile;Till all her features blossomed in a smile.
And the child, waking at the call of bliss, To each she ran, and took and gave a kiss.
