Page:Poems, now first collected, Stedman, 1897.djvu/45

HEBE A splendid bronze for a showman's car,

And listless enough for bit and rein.

But Hebe is—just like all her sex—

Not good, then bad,—be sure of that:

In either case 't would a sage perplex

To make them out, both woman and cat.

A curious record, Hebe's. Reared

In Italy; age,—that's hard to fix;

Trained from a cub, until she feared

The lash, and learned her round of tricks;

Always a traveller,—one of two

A woman-tamer took in hand,

Whipped them, coaxed them,—and so they grew

To fawn or cower at her command.

None but Florina—that was her name

And this the story of Hebe here—

Entered their cage; the brutes were tame

As kittens, though, their mistress near.

A tall, proud wench as ever was seen,

Supple and handsome, full of grace:

The world would bow to a real queen

That had Florina's form and face.

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