Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/87

  And now, repenting, you would be my wife, Would pawn your troth to me— Poor Doll! beyond the icebergs of your life
 * There throbs no open sea!

I sought it once, and lo! my former self
 * Is shipwrecked in the quest.

See the impassioned Franklin, with his pelf,
 * Dead on your gelid breast.

You scream—’tis but a delicate doll’s cry—
 * A trick, as all perceive it;

They say you’re stuffed with sawdust—though a lie,
 * A skeptic might believe it!

’Mid the shimmer of lamps and the redowa’s dash,
 * Where the trumpet the thick-tongued song salutes—

’Mid the flutter of gauze and the diamond’s flash,
 * ’Mid the masquerade of flutes!