“Men, give more frankness and less flattery,”
So read Minerva from her essay fine.
“Men, give more frankness and less flattery,”
Much emphasis she laid upon this line.
“We are no foolish children to be fed
On empty words of unearned praise, forsooth,
Too long in such poor ways have we been led,
Give us no compliment—give us the truth,
Think not a woman pines to hear you tell
How beautiful her form, how fair her face,
Think not she whispers to herself, ‘’Tis well!’
When you proclaim her rich in every grace.
You think to please her—Ah, sir, vain your dream,

When next such fulsome praises you may speak,
Mark well her eyes, and read their scornful gleam,
And note the angry blush, on brow and cheek.
Be fair, speak out your thoughts as they may rise,
Nor seek to hide them, since the truth is grand
All praise unmerited we do despise,
If you could read our mind, and understand.
Men, give more frankness, and less flattery,
Remember, we are neither dull, nor blind,
Men, give more frankness, and less flattery,
If you would win the trust of womankind.”

Much marvelled I at dear Minerva’s lay,
But thought she truly meant each earnest word,
And so neglected telling her straightway
How much her genius had my bosom stirred;
Neglected telling her that if two wings
But grew out from her shoulders soft and white,
Fair would she be as seraph mild that sings
The songs of love in Paradise to-night,
Neglected telling her the flowers she wore
Drooped with the heat of their own jealousy,
And whispered to each other o’er and o’er:
“Ah, how much sweeter is this maid than we!”
She begged for frankness from all men—from me—
For this her wondrous eloquence was poured.
So afterwards when she did question me,
I—foolish man—confessed that I was bored.
And when she showed her gown of palest blue,
Shook for me all its dainty ruffles out,
I would not praise it—though I wanted to—
Her red lips straight took on a pretty pout.
“Did not we graduates look very nice?”
She asked, and patted one rebellious curl.

“Frankness, not flattery,” I murmured twice,
“Let me remember it my own dear girl!”
“I’ve seen you looking lovelier,” I said,
“I like your hair best when it softly flows,
Not piled in one big bunch upon your head—
The powder showed quite plainly on your nose.”
Who was it said, “O, inconsistency,
Thy name is woman?” Surely he was right,
I spoke my thoughts, refrained from flattery,
Lo, for reward comes this brief note to-night:

“I think to longer be engaged to you
Would be a foolish thing, and very wrong.

GRAY says he dreamed the whole night through
Of me, and of my essay wise and strong.
If you should call to night, at eight, pray bring
My notes—and—and—the photo, and the curl,
I will return your presents and your ring,
To think, that you should grow into a churl.”

I’m going to tell Minerva when we meet
That it was just a little joke of mine,
And nevermore—my cure is quite complete—
Will I believe a woman’s essay fine.