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Eugene Field - Lydia Dick
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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.
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