Poem by Henry Cuyler Bunner

Forfeits

They sent him round the circle fair,
To bow before the prettiest there.
I’m bound to say the choice he made
A creditable taste displayed;
Although—I can’t say what it meant—
The little maid looked ill-content.

His task was then anew begun—
To kneel before the wittiest one.
Once more that little maid sought he,
And went him down upon his knee.
She bent her eyes upon the floor—
I think she thought the game a bore.

He circled then—his sweet behest
To kiss the one he loved the best.
For all she frowned, for all she chid,
He kissed that little maid, he did.
And then—though why I can’t decide—
The little maid looked satisfied.

1. For an Old Poet
2. Janiveer in March
3. Farewell to Salvini
4. Shriven
5. Deaf

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