Poem by Frederick Locker-Lampson

Circumstance

    The Orange

It ripen’d by the river banks,
   Where, musk and moonlight aiding,
Dons Whiskerandos play sad pranks,
   Dark Donnas serenading.

By Moorish maiden it was pluck’d,
   Who broke some hearts, they say, then,
By Saxon sweetheart it was suck’d,—
   Who threw the peel away then.

How little thought the London Fair,
   Or dark-eyed Girl of Seville,
That I should reel upon that peel,
   And find my proper level!

1. The Four Seasons
2. Miss Edith
3. A Glimpse of Gretna Green, in the Distance
4. The Widow’s Mite
5. A Sketch in Seven Dials

Ella Wilcox Circumstance ("Talk not to me of souls that do conceive")

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