POETRY.
DENNY.
DENNY mine, I contemplate, Half alarmed and half elate, Half amused and half beguiled, Such a decorative child : It is true There are plenty of the others, You have sisters and you've brothers : Some are pretty, some are not, But there is in all the lot None like you.
And though, when some noisy fun By the others is begun, You can shout and jump and frisk As befits a cheerful, brisk Little chap, You are likest some rare pet, Squirrel, lemur, marmoset, That with soft and wavy fur Would curl up and never stir In my lap.
Prettier than a little girl's Are your amber-coloured curls,— Curls that cluster, somewhat slack, " Gold upon a ground of black ;" And your eyes Are as black as black can be, Eyes you never got from me, And I think that something queer Must be surely lodging here In disguise.
Most discreet is your delight ; And your tiny mouth, shut tight, Never laughs, but at odd whiles Dimples into quiet smiles For a joke.
If I tied you, hands and feet, Held you over burning peat, Crying " Fairies all we banish," Would you shrivel up and vanish In the smoke P Are your queer, uncanny ways, And your serious, solemn plays
Signs of something old and small—
Not a little boy at all, But an elf ?
Or is all that fluffy hair, All your fashions and that air Prim, precise, demure, and quaint, Like a little prince in paint, Just yourself ? STEPHEN GWYNN.
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