A Sonnet In Dialogue.
By Henry Austin Dobson
FRANK (on the Lawn).
Come to the Terrace, May,--the sun is low.
MAY (in the House).
Thanks, I prefer my Browning here instead.
FRANK.
There are two peaches by the strawberry bed.
MAY.
They will be riper if we let them grow.
FRANK.
Then the Park-aloe is in bloom, you know.
MAY.
Also, her Majesty Queen Anne is dead.
FRANK.
But surely, May, your pony must be fed.
MAY.
And was, and is. I fed him hours ago.
'Tis useless, Frank, you see I shall not stir.
FRANK.
Still, I had something you would like to hear.
MAY.
No doubt some new frivolity of men.
FRANK.
Nay,--'tis a thing the gentler sex deplores
Chiefly, I think....
MAY (coming to the window).
What is this secret, then?
FRANK (mysteriously).
There are no eyes more beautiful than yours!