  [We think about the feminine faces we meet in the streets, and experience a passing melancholy because we are unacquainted with some of the girls we see.—From "The Erotic Motive in Literature," by Albert Mordell.] Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many girls I see Whose form and features I applaud With well-concealÉd glee! I'd speak to many a sonsie maid, Or willowy or obese, Were I not fearful, and afraid She'd yell for the police. And Melancholy, bittersweet, Marks me then as her own, Because I lack the nerve to greet The girls I might have known. Yet though with sadness I am fraught, (As I remarked before), There is one sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er: For every shadow cloud of woe Hath argentine alloy; I see some girls I do not know, And feel a passing joy. |
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