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POEM OF THE DAY

DIRGE

To the memory of Miss Ellen Gee, of Kew, who died in consequence of
being stung in the eye.

Peerless yet hapless maid of Q!
    Accomplish'd LN G!
Never again shall I and U
    Together sip our T.

For, ah! the Fates I know not Y,
    Sent 'midst the flowers a B,
Which ven'mous stung her in the I,
    So that she could not C.

LN exclaim'd, "Vile spiteful B!
    If ever I catch U
On jess'mine, rosebud, or sweet P,
    I'll change your singing Q.

"I'll send you like a lamb or U
    Across th' Atlantic C.
From our delightful village Q
    To distant O Y E.

"A stream runs from my wounded I,
    Salt as the briny C
As rapid as the X or Y,
    The OIO or D.

"Then fare thee ill, insensate B!
    Who stung, nor yet knew Y,
Since not for wealthy Durham's C
    Would I have lost my I."

They bear with tears fair LN G
    In funeral R A,
A clay-cold corse now doom'd to B
    Whilst I mourn her DK.
Ye nymphs of Q, then shun each B,
    List to the reason Y;
For should A B C U at T,
    He'll surely sting your I.

Now in a grave L deep in Q,
    She's cold as cold can B,
Whilst robins sing upon A U
    Her dirge and LEG.

                                 Unknown.

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