Ad Chloen, M.A., Fresh From Her Cambridge Examination

Lady, very fair are you,
And your eyes are very blue,
    And your hose;
And your brow is like the snow,
And the various things you know,
    Goodness knows.

And the rose-flush on your cheek,
And your Algebra and Greek
    Perfect are;
And that loving lustrous eye
Recognizes in the sky
    Every star.

You have pouting piquant lips,
You can doubtless an eclipse
    Calculate;
But for your cerulean hue,
I had certainly from you
    Met my fate.

If by some arrangement dual
I were Adams mixed with Whewell,
    Then some day
I, as wooer, perhaps might come
To so sweet an Artium
    Magistra.

Edward James Mortimer Collins

Edward James Mortimer Collins was an English novelist, journalist, and poet. He was known for his witty and humorous writings. After various early ventures, including a brief attempt to join the clergy, Collins turned to writing. He contributed to several periodicals and newspapers. Despite an erratic life, his works were well-received for their charm and wit. He is remembered for his light verse and his novels that often satirized society.

Edward James Mortimer Collins

Chloe, M.A., Ad Amantem Suam

Edward James Mortimer Collins, Simple Poetry

English

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Chloe, M.A., Ad Amantem Suam

Careless rhymer, it is true,
That my favourite colour's blue:
    But am I
To be made a victim, sir,
If to puddings I prefer
    Cambridge [pi]?

If with giddier girls I play
Croquet through the summer day
    On the turf,
Then at night ('tis no great boon)
Let me study how the moon
    Sways the surf.

Tennyson's idyllic verse
Surely suits me none the worse
    If I seek
Old Sicilian birds and bees,
Music of sweet Sophocles,
    Golden Greek.

You have said my eyes are blue;
There may be a fairer hue,
    Perhaps, and yet
It is surely not a sin
If I keep my secrets in
    Violet.

Edward James Mortimer Collins

To Chloe Jealous

Dear Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face;
Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd:
Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)
Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

How canst thou presume, thou hast leave to destroy
The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy keeping?
Those looks were design'd to inspire love and joy:
More ord'nary eyes may serve people for weeping.

To be vext at a trifle or two that I writ,
Your judgment at once, and my passion you wrong:
You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit:
Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a song?

What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows
The diff'rence there is betwixt nature and art:
I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose:
An...

Matthew Prior

A Better Answer

Dear Cloe, how blubber'd is that pretty Face?
Thy Cheek all on Fire, and Thy Hair all uncurl'd:
Pr'ythee quit this Caprice; and (as old Falstaf says)
Let Us e'en talk a little like Folks of This World.

How can'st Thou presume, Thou hast leave to destroy
The Beauties, which Venus but lent to Thy keeping?
Those Looks were design'd to inspire Love and Joy:
More ord'nary Eyes may serve People for weeping.

To be vext at a Trifle or two that I writ,
Your Judgment at once, and my Passion You wrong:
You take that for Fact, which will scarce be found Wit:
Odd's Life! must One swear to the Truth of a Song?

What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, shews
The Diff'rence there is betwixt Nature and Art:
I court others in Verse; but I love Thee in Prose:
An...

Matthew Prior

To .... ....

Never mind how the pedagogue proses,
    You want not antiquity's stamp;
A lip, that such fragrance discloses,
    Oh! never should smell of the lamp.

Old Cloe, whose withering kiss
    Hath long set the Loves at defiance,
Now, done with the science of bliss,
    May take to the blisses of science.

But for you to be buried in books--
    Ah, Fanny, they're pitiful sages,
Who could not in one of your looks
    Read more than in millions of pages.

Astronomy finds in those eyes
    Better light than she studies above;
And Music would borrow your sighs
    As the melody fittest for Love.

Your Arithmetic only can trip
    If to count your own charms you endeavor;
And Eloquence glows on your lip
    When you swear...

Thomas Moore

Her Right Name

As Nancy at her toilette sat,
Admiring this, and blaming that,
Tell me, she said, but tell me true,
The nymph who could your heart subdue.
What sort of charms does she possess?
Absolve me, fair one, I'll confess
With pleasure, I replied: Her hair,
In ringlets rather dark than fair,
Does down her ivory bosom roll,
And hiding half adorns the whole,
In her high forehead's fair half round
Love sits, in open triumph crown'd;
He, in the dimple of her chin,
In private state, by friends is seen.
Her eyes are neither black nor grey,
Nor fierce nor feeble is their ray;
Their dubious lustre seems to show
Something that speaks nor yes nor no.
Her lips no living bard, I weet,
May say how red, how round, how sweet:
Old Homer only could indite
Their ...

Matthew Prior

A Romance In Real (Academic) Life.

    By the waters of Cam, as the shades were descending,
        A Fellow sat moaning his desolate lot;
    From his sad eyes were flowing salt rivulets, blending
        Their tide with the river which heeded them not -

    "O! why did I leave," - thus he wearily muttered -
        "The silent repose, and the shade of my books,
    Where the voice of a woman no sound ever uttered,
        And I ne'er felt the magic of feminine looks?

    "Then I rose when the east with Aurora was ruddy;
        Took a plunge in my Pliny; collated a play;
    No breakfast I ate, for I found in each study
        A collation which lasted me all through the day.

    "I know not what temptress first came to my garden
        Of Eden, and lured me stern wisdom to leave;
  ...

Edward Woodley Bowling