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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519100" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Letter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">After W. M. P.<br>Dear Kitty, <br>At length the term's ending; <br>I 'm in for my Schools in a week; <br>And the time that at present I'm spending <br>On you should be spent upon Greek: <br>But I'm fairly well read in my Plato, <br>I'm thoroughly red in the eyes, <br>And I've almost forgotten the way to <br>Be healthy and wealthy and wise. <br>So 'the best of all ways'—why repeat you <br>The verse at 2.30 a.m., <br>When I 'm stealing an hour to entreat you <br>Dear Kitty, to come to Commem.?<br>Oh, come! You shall rustle in satin <br>Through halls where Examiners trod: <br>Your laughter shall triumph o'er Latin <br>In lecture-room, garden, and quad. <br>They stand in the silent Sheldonian— <br>Our orators, waiting—for you, <br>Their style guaranteed Ciceronian, <br>Their subject—'the Ladies in Blue.' <br>The Vice sits arrayed in his scarlet; <br>He's pale, but they say he dissem- <br>-bles by calling his Beadle a 'varlet' <br>Whenever he thinks of Commem.<br>There are dances, flirtations at Nuneham, <br>Flower-shows, the procession of Eights: <br>There's a list stretching usque ad Lunam <br>Of concerts, and lunches, and fetes: <br>There's the Newdigate all about 'Gordon,' <br>—So sweet, and they say it will scan. <br>You shall flirt with a Proctor, a Warden <br>Shall run for your shawl and your fan. <br>They are sportive as gods broken loose from <br>Olympus, and yet very em- <br>-inent men. There are plenty to choose from, <br>You'll find, if you come to Commem.<br>I know your excuses: Red Sorrel <br>Has stumbled and broken her knees; <br>Aunt Phoebe thinks waltzing immoral; <br>And 'Algy, you are such a tease; <br>It's nonsense, of course, but she is strict'; <br>And little Dick Hodge has the croup; <br>And there's no one to visit your 'district' <br>Or make Mother Tettleby's soup. <br>Let them cease for a se'nnight to plague you; <br>Oh, leave them to manage pro tem. <br>With their croups and their soups and their ague) <br>Dear Kitty, and come to Commem.<br>Don't tell me Papa has lumbago, <br>That you haven't a frock fit to wear, <br>That the curate 'has notions, and may go <br>To lengths if there's nobody there,' <br>That the Squire has 'said things' to the Vicar, <br>And the Vicar 'had words' with the Squire, <br>That the Organist's taken to liquor, <br>And leaves you to manage the choir: <br>For Papa must be cured, and the curate <br>Coerced, and your gown is a gem; <br>And the moral is—Don't be obdurate, <br>Dear Kitty, but come to Commem.<br>'My gown? Though, no doubt, sir, you're clever, <br>You 'd better leave fashions alone. <br>Do you think that a frock lasts for ever?' <br>Dear Kitty, I'll grant you have grown; <br>But I thought of my 'scene' with McVittie <br>That night when he trod on your train <br>At the Bachelor's Ball. ''Twas a pity,' <br>You said, but I knew 'twas Champagne. <br>And your gown was enough to compel me <br>To fall down and worship its hem— <br>(Are 'hems' wearing? If not, you shall tell me <br>What is, when you come to Commem.)<br>Have you thought, since that night, of the Grotto? <br>Of the words whispered under the palms, <br>While the minutes flew by and forgot to <br>Remind us of Aunt and her qualms? <br>Of the stains of the old Journalisten? <br>Of the rose that I begged from your hair? <br>When you turned, and I saw something glisten— <br>Dear Kitty, don't frown; it was there! <br>But that idiot Delane in the middle <br>Bounced in with 'Our dance, I—ahem!' <br>And—the rose you may find in my Liddell <br>And Scott when you come to Commem.<br>Then, Kitty, let 'yes' be the answer. <br>We'll dance at the 'Varsity Ball, <br>And the morning shall find you a dancer <br>In Christ Church or Trinity hall. <br>And perhaps, when the elders are yawning <br>And rafters grow pale overhead <br>With the day, there shall come with its dawning <br>Some thought of that sentence unsaid. <br>Be it this, be it that—'I forget,' or <br>'Was joking'—whatever the fem- <br>-inine fib, you'll have made me your debtor <br>And come,—you will come? to Commem.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Arthur+Quiller-Couch">Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519100" data-title="A Letter de Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch" data-description="After W. M. P.
Dear Kitty, 
At length the term's ending; 
I 'm in for my Schools in a week; 
And the time that at present I'm spending 
On you should be spent upon Greek: 
But I'm fairly well read in my Plato, 
I'm thoroughly red in the eyes, 
And..."></div>
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