Monday, August 25, 2014

A Poem by Toby Trinculo (That's me!)

It seems I have been in luck this year. Because of the great efforts put forth by Ann Neilson of the Materialistic Maiden, we have discovered yet another of my poems. This little gem was stumbled upon accidentally when she and I had purchased a two volume set of the Ladies' Companion. This esteemed literary magazine published two other poems of mine, if you will recall, and the poem I soon will present was discovered only thanks to the purchase Ann and I had made. Unfortunately, the volume and issue this poem is in is no where to be found online, being Volume VIII, November 1837 issue.

Note that my name, Rufus W. Griswold, is listed by the poem in the Table of Contents, however I sign my poem with "Trinculo." It is quite peculiar; I am not sure what was going through my mind when I did this. Also, I have not the foggiest idea whether this poem was written for my dearest wife, Caroline, or a young miss I was seeking out. I digress.

Without further ado, I present my newly rediscovered poem.




While by thy chair I gazing stand,
To learn to win a vole,
Thy eyes, thy lips, thy form, thy hand
From cards distract my soul.
Yet what avails those lips to praise,
And not their sweets to prove?
Or fondly on those eyes to gaze,
And meet no look of love?

Thus doth the beggar view with sighs
The lofty gilded dome;
Yet hopes not, as he shivering lies,
Within its walls to come.
If thou must needs instructress turn,
Oh, teach a nobler art,--
Teach me to make thy bosom burn,
And melt thy frozen heart.


1 comment:

  1. "It is quite peculiar; I am not sure what was going through my mind when I did this."

    Rumpus, if I ever raise the money to buy you a tombstone, I think this is what I'll use as your epitaph.