Folly, my dear, the more I see of you, Your beckoning smile and understanding eyes, The more I tire of Wisdom and her crew They are so dull, and you so otherwise. Of course I don't believe the tales I've heard Of how you carry on with other men. Their pastimes are so utterly absurd, While mine, well, that is something else again. That silly Jones who meets you on the links, And Brown, whose schooner in the offing lies, How little either of them ever thinks That someone else may carry off the prize. Really, my dear, I feel that Fate has planned Our friendship -- may I call it more some day? That I at last shall hold your lovely hand, And take up Folly, in a serious way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH CORPORATE ENTITY by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH LIFE [AND DEATH] by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SONNET (ON RECEIVING A LETTER INFORMING ME OF THE BIRTH OF A SON) by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE A DEATH SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR DEAD COW FARM by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES |