Lydia Dick.

When I was a boy at college,     Filling up with classic knowledge,     Frequently I wondered why     Old Professor Demas Bently     Used to praise so eloquently     "Opera Horatii."     Toiling on a season longer     Till my reasoning power got stronger,     As my observation grew,     I became convinced that mellow,     Massic-loving poet fellow     Horace knew a thing or two     Yes, we sophomores figured duly     That, if we appraised him truly,     Horace must have been a brick;     And no wonder that with ranting     Rhymes he went a-gallivanting     Round with sprightly Lydia Dick!     For that pink of female gender     Tall and shapely was, and slender,     Plump of neck and bust and arms;     While the raiment that invested     Her so jealously suggested     Certain more potential charms.     Those dark eyes of her that fired him--     Those sweet accents that inspired him,     And her crown of glorious hair--     These things baffle my description;     I should have a fit conniption     If I tried--so I forbear!     May be Lydia had her betters;     Anyway, this man of letters     Took that charmer as his pick;     Glad--yes, glad I am to know it!     I, a fin de siecle poet,     Sympathize with Lydia Dick!     Often in my arbor shady     I fall thinking of that lady     And the pranks she used to play;     And I'm cheered--for all we sages     Joy when from those distant ages     Lydia dances down our way.     Otherwise some folks might wonder     With good reason why in thunder     Learned professors, dry and prim,     Find such solace in the giddy     Pranks that Horace played with Liddy     Or that Liddy played on him.     Still this world of ours rejoices     In those ancient singing voices,     And our hearts beat high and quick,     To the cadence of old Tiber     Murmuring praise of roistering Liber     And of charming Lydia Dick.     Still, Digentia, downward flowing,     Prattleth to the roses blowing     By the dark, deserted grot;     Still, Soracte, looming lonely,     Watcheth for the coming only     Of a ghost that cometh not.