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Poem by Eugene Field
Ballad of Women I Love
Prudence Mears hath an old blue plate Hid away in an oaken chest, And a Franklin platter of ancient date Beareth Amandy Baker's crest; What times soever I've been their guest, Says I to myself in an undertone: "Of womenfolk, it must be confessed, These do I love, and these alone." Well, again, in the Nutmeg State, Dorothy Pratt is richly blest With a relic of art and a land effete— A pitcher of glass that's cut, not pressed. And a Washington teapot is possessed Down in Pelham by Marthy Stone— Think ye now that I say in jest "These do I love, and these alone?" Were Hepsy Higgins inclined to mate, Or Dorcas Eastman prone to invest In Cupid's bonds, they could find their fate In the bootless bard of Crockery Quest. For they've heaps of trumpery—so have the rest Of those spinsters whose ware I'd like to own; You can see why I say with such certain zest, "These do I love, and these alone." ENVOY Prince, show me the quickest way and best To gain the subject of my moan; We've neither spinsters nor relics out West— These do I love, and these alone.
Eugene Field's other poems:
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