R
Robert Harrison
Guest
To my wife, Annie.
In thy youth thou were desirable.
Eighteen summers had passed
And no man had ringed thy finger.
In grace and elegance did thou walk?
Floating on four-inch stiletto.
Bird like, ready to take flight.
Thy legs, seamed straight,
Sheathed in fifteen denier.
Face of delicate bone china,
Partially enclosed in black
Latticed veil, mysterious to view
Thy head crowned in black velvet.
A waist, like that of a wasp.
Pinched to show hip and breast.
Envied by some, jealousy moved
Others to envy thee thy beauty.
Thy beau, of short stature,
Did amble, rather than walk
At thy side.
Would that gauntlet could be
Cast and challenge made to thy
Ungainly suitor for thy hand.
Helen had her horse and
One hundred men.
One hundred horses and ten
Thousand men would I set to
Obtain thee for myself.
Ten thousand horns would sound
And the walls of thy aloofness
Would crumble.
Oh Annie, my Annie, thou shalt
Be mine, and thy finger wilt be ringed.
In thy youth thou were desirable.
Eighteen summers had passed
And no man had ringed thy finger.
In grace and elegance did thou walk?
Floating on four-inch stiletto.
Bird like, ready to take flight.
Thy legs, seamed straight,
Sheathed in fifteen denier.
Face of delicate bone china,
Partially enclosed in black
Latticed veil, mysterious to view
Thy head crowned in black velvet.
A waist, like that of a wasp.
Pinched to show hip and breast.
Envied by some, jealousy moved
Others to envy thee thy beauty.
Thy beau, of short stature,
Did amble, rather than walk
At thy side.
Would that gauntlet could be
Cast and challenge made to thy
Ungainly suitor for thy hand.
Helen had her horse and
One hundred men.
One hundred horses and ten
Thousand men would I set to
Obtain thee for myself.
Ten thousand horns would sound
And the walls of thy aloofness
Would crumble.
Oh Annie, my Annie, thou shalt
Be mine, and thy finger wilt be ringed.
