Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/156

POEMS OF NEW ENGLAND II

A. D. 1884

great-great-grandpapas had schooled

Your fancies, Lita, were you born

In days when Cotton Mather ruled

And damask petticoats were worn!

Your pretty ways, your mocking air,

Had passed, mayhap, for Satan's wiles—

As fraught with danger, then and there,

To you, as now to us your smiles.

Why not? Were inquest to begin,

The tokens are not far to seek:

Item—the dimple of your chin;

Item—that freckle on your cheek.

Grace shield his simple soul from harm

Who enters yon flirtation niche,

Or trusts in whispered counter-charm,

Alone with such a parlous witch!

Your fan a wand is, in disguise;

It conjures, and we straight are drawn

Within a witches' Paradise

Of music, germans, roses, lawn.

So through the season, where you go,

All else than Lita men forget:

One needs no second-sight to know

That sorcery is rampant yet.

Now, since the bars no more await

Fair maids that practise sable arts,

Take heed, while I pronounce the fate

Of her who thus ensnares men's hearts: 126