More lush than fashionable beauty's brow
And scorning false pretence
Arched like the ancient SCYTHIAN's bow
At thy lover's want of sense
Thy scorn conceals a woman's heart
Most passionate and warm
But pleasure at the poet's art
Moves not thy shapely form
'Tis not my love you'd turn away
Or spurn beneath your feet
You'd take your faithful Lucey, GRAY
Without the literary conceit.
Remember, when you next make funWithout my verse I am struck dumb.
Cornet Lucifer Pettitt, the most junior officer of Babbitt's Troop of Horse, is a young man of many parts.
The miracle is that most of them are still attached.