A Drawing-room Reverie
by J. Ashby Sterry.
Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.1 #2 (Dec 1866).
Can ten long years have passed away
Since with Kate Fane I used to play
And spoil her doll and toys?
She was an awful little tease,
Who tore her clothes and grazed her knees—
Who sometimes clomb up apple-trees—
And loved to play with boys.
The merriest of romping girls
Was Kate, with tangled sunny curls,
In those bright laughing days:
Her skirt was bien bouffée—e'en
She never wore a crinoline—
'Neath which peeped trousers, frilled, I ween,
With broderie anglaise.
Whole mornings then we used to pass
In strolling through the nodding grass
Or couching 'mongst the fern;
Whilst there, when no one else was by,
I used to kiss her on the sly—
And Kate was neither coy nor shy,
But kissed me in return!
The livelong day we played and walked,
Or in the orchard swung and talked—
'Twas thus our liking strengthened:
At last, one gloomy, tearful day,
My playfellow was sent away
To school, and there she had to stay
Until her frocks were lengthened.
In Eton's classic groves I strayed,
To pick up learning—I'm afraid
I "picked up" more at cricket;
My boyish love was left to fate,
When pulling in the College Eight;
I quite forgot my little mate,
In dreams of double-wicket!
And now I chance to meet again,
Not saucy Kate, but fair Miss Fane,
The loveliest of belles;
Who rules the season—for I know,
At party, fête, or flower-show,
In opera-box or in the Row,
She queens it o'er the swells.
Ah! since that rosy laughing child
Would jump upon her pony wild,
And round the paddock canter,
Or madly with black Hector race,
Or climb for nests in Lyndith Chase—
For which she got in sad disgrace—
O tempora mutantur!
For Kate will never know me now,
But with a studied, solemn bow,
She'll gaze with manner blank.
Not know me? How her eyes flash bright!
She shakes my hand, and grasps it tight,
And laughingly exclaims, "I'm right—
'Tis my old playmate Frank!"