Etchings in Verse (Underhill)/To Mrs. Herrick
TO MRS. HERRICK.
I have learned that the final decision as to the acceptance or rejection of poetry for the Century Magazine lies with a Mrs. Herrick, of Bergen Point, New Jersey.
AS I muse alone and dream,And write verses by the ream,Upon Spring, and April's changes climateric, I infer, as here I sit, That you'll give my muse the mittWhen you read my rugged verses, Mrs. Herrick.
I have sent you, o'er and o'er, Squibs, and poems by the score—Their number would exhaust all words numeric— But your taste was quite too fine To think of me or mine:You quite ignored my genius, Mrs. Herrick.
My numbers have been bold, And bad, as those of oldRecited in religions esoteric; But, at times, my muse is chaste, And around her glowing waistOne ne'er could put his arm, dear Mrs. Herrick.
Now, I've madrigals, and rhymes Of the golden olden times,And love songs that would drive a girl hysteric; I have triolets, rondeaux, And a drinking-song or soI could give you, if you'd take them, Mrs. Herrick.
I've didactic poems, odes On the "annotated codes,"Lines upon the church and verses monasteric; I have sonnets and quatrains, And prologues—yes; and brains!Tho' you seem inclined to doubt it, Mrs. Herrick.
I have elegies, nocturnes Where the lover sighs, and yearns,Songs ancient; yes, and measures neoteric. Here are fifteen villanelles, And a score of light rondels,With a sapphic, at a bargain, Mrs. Herrick.
Now I think a small ballade Wouldn't go so very bad—Thrown in to make my fame less ephemeric: And perhaps this neat pantoum Might find sufficient roomIn "Bric-à-Brac" next August, Mrs. Herrick.
These epics are sublime; But I ne'er have got a dimeFrom magazines that publish verse Homeric; And I've often wondered why I've received the same reply:"Declined with thanks &c.", Mrs. Herrick.
Now, if I could only find Out your qualities of mind—In fact, get down to principles generic, I'd go ahead and write Ten cantos here to-night,And send you in a quarto, Mrs. Herrick.