Book Description

Misrepresentative Women The bride grows pale beneath her veil,The matron, for the nonce, is dumb,Who listens to the tragic taleOf Mrs. Christopher Columb:Who lived and died (so says report)A widow of the herbal sort.Her husband upon canvas wingsWould brave the Ocean, tempest-tost;He had a cult for finding thingsWhich nobody had ever lost,And Mrs. C. grew almost franticWhen he discovered the Atlantic.But nothing she could do or sayWould keep her Christopher at home;Without delay he sailed awayAcross what poets call “the foam,”While neighbors murmured, “What a shame!”And wished their husbands did the same.He ventured on the highest C’sThat reared their heads above the bar,Knowing the compass and the quaysLike any operatic star;And funny friends who watched him do soWould call him “Robinson Caruso.”But Mrs. C. remained indoors,And poked the fire and wound the clocks,Amused the children, scrubbed the floors,Or darned her absent husband’s socks.(For she was far too sweet and wiseTo darn the great explorer’s eyes.)