<h2><SPAN name="page89"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>UNDER THE TREES.</h2>
<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Under</span> the
trees!” Who but agrees<br/>
That there is magic in words such as these?<br/>
Promptly one sees shake in the breeze<br/>
Stately lime-avenues haunted of bees:<br/>
Where, looking far over buttercupp’d leas,<br/>
Lads and “fair shes” (that is Byron, and
he’s<br/>
An authority) lie very much at their ease;<br/>
Taking their teas, or their duck and green peas,<br/>
Or, if they prefer it, their plain bread and cheese:<br/>
Not objecting at all though it’s rather a squeeze<br/>
And the glass is, I daresay, at 80 degrees.<br/>
Some get up glees, and are mad about Ries<br/>
And Sainton, and Tamberlik’s thrilling high Cs;<br/>
<SPAN name="page90"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>Or if
painters, hold forth upon Hunt and Maclise,<br/>
And the tone and the breadth of that landscape of Lee’s;<br/>
Or if learned, on nodes and the moon’s apogees,<br/>
Or, if serious, on something of AKHB’s,<br/>
Or the latest attempt to convert the Chaldees;<br/>
Or in short about all things, from earthquakes to fleas.<br/>
Some sit in twos or (less frequently) threes,<br/>
With their innocent lambswool or book on their knees,<br/>
And talk, and enact, any nonsense you please,<br/>
As they gaze into eyes that are blue as the seas;<br/>
And you hear an occasional “Harry, don’t
tease”<br/>
From the sweetest of lips in the softest of keys,<br/>
And other remarks, which to me are Chinese.<br/>
And fast the time flees; till a ladylike sneeze,<br/>
Or a portly papa’s more elaborate wheeze,<br/>
<SPAN name="page91"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>Makes Miss
Tabitha seize on her brown muffatees,<br/>
And announce as a fact that it’s going to freeze,<br/>
And that young people ought to attend to their Ps<br/>
And their Qs, and not court every form of disease:<br/>
Then Tommy eats up the three last ratafias,<br/>
And pretty Louise wraps her <i>robe de cerise</i><br/>
Round a bosom as tender as Widow Machree’s,<br/>
And (in spite of the pleas of her lorn vis-a-vis)<br/>
Goes to wrap up her uncle—a patient of Skey’s,<br/>
Who is prone to catch chills, like all old Bengalese:—<br/>
But at bedtime I trust he’ll remember to grease<br/>
The bridge of his nose, and preserve his rupees<br/>
From the premature clutch of his fond legatees;<br/>
Or at least have no fees to pay any M. D.s<br/>
For the cold his niece caught, sitting under the Trees.</p>
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