The Song Of The Sandwich
We
met at night in the season's hight,
Mid revel and mirth and song.
I looked in your eye with a mute, mute cry,
As you elbowed your way through the throng.
Alone in that crowd of men who bowed,
And flattered, and flirted around,
Your quick thought guessed the woe in my breast,
And you sprang to my side with a bound.
In a whisper as faint as a south wind's plaint,
I murmured my need to you.
'A sandwich!' I wailed, then your strong eye quailed,
For oh! they were thin and few.
And about them hustled and pushed and tussled,
A score of desperate men.
But you drew your breath, and you hissed ''Sdeath!'
And then you turned back again.
'Ladye!' you cried with haughty pride,
While your dark eye flashed on me,
'If I risk my life in yon seething strife
What shall my guerdon be?'
'May I hope for a line that shall be all mine,
A song by the world unheard?
From rivals detested, shall the sandwich be wrested,
If thou wilt but say the word.'
'If you reach that goal, I vow by my soul,
(I spoke in a desperate tone)
And I live till that time, I will write you a rhyme,
A rhyme to be all your own.'
'Nay more, if you try, and in warfare die,
As sometimes befalls the brave,
In lines of glory I'll wreathe your story
And lay them upon your grave.'
Like a knight of old, with an air that was bold,
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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Added by Poetry Lover
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