To Hasty Suzanne Pudding
Suzanne, O black-eyed picture of a dream,
From haunting thoughts I cannot seem to ban you;
I wonder if you're really what you seem,
You have the air of "chateaux en Espagne."
At Leavitt's, midst the Famous Cake Box Mixture,
And circled round with flasks to quench the thirst.
Among the pipes and mugs you seemed a fixture,
For there it was I gazed upon you first.
"There's none like thee, though other maids be fair,"
To this conclusion you have now reduced me;
I can't resist a maid's "Come hither" stare,
Your far-off Spanish smile has quite seduced me.
But what's this rumor vile? Oh, I'm afraid
And cannot laugh it off, howe'er I seek--