I had my share of small successes,

Made languid love to languid belles

And penn'd descriptions of their dresses.

Ah! Millionairess Millicent,

How fair you were! How you adored me!

How many tender hours we spent—

And, oh, beloved, how you bored me!

April, 1871.

Is not that fragmentary bit

Of my young verse a perfect prism,

Where worldly knowledge, pleasant wit,

True humor, kindly cynicism,

Refracted by the frolic glass

Of Fancy, play with change incessant?

June, 1874.

Great Cæsar! What a sweet young ass

I must have been, when adolescent!

August, 1886.

A ROSEBUD IN LENT.

You saw her last, the ball-room's belle,

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