The Parson's Daughter

Under the bombazine impressed

In clumsy gesture on her soul,

Is something that will soon betray

And turn to scorn the sober whole.

In the staid traffic of her day

She gasps to feel a changeling start

And, free as summer lightning, shake

A wild high giggle in her heart.

Then bedroom smirk of ugly mirth,

And naked squatting of the ape,

Foretell how all that has been she

Will gambol from its decent shape,

The voice squall out, the blameless pen

Suddenly scrawl awry, and then . . .