LIGHT of triumph in her eyes, Eleanor her apron ties; As she pushes back her sleeves, High resolve her bosom heaves. Hasten, cook! impel the fire To the pace of her desire; As you hope to save your soul, Bring a virgin casserole, Brightest bring of silver spoons, — Eleanor makes macaroons! Almond-blossoms, now adance In the smile of Southern France, Leave your sport with sun and breeze, Think of duty, not of ease; Fashion, 'neath their jerkins brown, Kernels white as thistle-down, Tiny cheeses made with cream From the Galaxy's mid-stream, Blanched in light of honeymoons, — Eleanor makes macaroons! Now for sugar, — nay, our plan Tolerates no work of man. Hurry, then, ye golden bees; Fetch your clearest honey, please, Garnered on a Yorkshire moor, While the last larks sing and soar, From the heather-blossoms sweet Where sea-breeze and sunshine meet, And the Augusts mask as Junes, — Eleanor makes macaroons! Next the pestle and mortar find, Pure rock-crystal, — these to grind Into paste more smooth than silk, Whiter than the milkweed's milk: Spread it on a rose-leaf, thus, Cate to please Theocritus; Then the fire with spices swell, While, for her completer spell, Mystic canticles she croons, — Eleanor makes macaroons! Perfect! and all this to waste On a graybeard's palsied taste! Poets so their verses write, Heap them full of life and light, And then fling them to the rude Mumbling of the multitude. Not so dire her fate as theirs, Since her friend this gift declares Choicest of his birthday boons, — Eleanor's dear macaroons! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE GREAT LOVER by RUPERT BROOKE SUMMER DAYS by WATHEN MARK WILKS CALL THE BELLS OF LONDON by MOTHER GOOSE MY FAMILIAR by JOHN GODFREY SAXE ANDRE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES ASCENSION (1) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |