J.K.S.

“ When smoking, after "lunch is cleared away,"
Thy face amid the cloud I seem to see;
When "that sweet mite with whom I used to play,"
Or "Araminta," or "the fair Miss P."
Recur to me, I think upon thy verses,
Which still my beating heart and quench my curses.
Ah, Calverley! if in these lays of mine
Some sparkle of thy radiant genius burned.
Or were in any poem—stanza—line
Some faint reflection of thy muse discerned:
If any critic would remark in fine
"Of C. S. C. this gentle art he learned;" ”