Woman is False!!

a poem from "Judy, or the London serio-comic

Journal, London, 1873... 

    WOMAN IS FALSE!

The first I loved was Mary Blair,

A gentle maid with golden hair—

Hair wonderful to see.

Alas ! one stormy April day,

The rude wind bore her locks away,

And lodged them in a tree.

My second love was Annie Weeks

The peach-like bloom upon whose cheeks

My heart next captive made.

This love, I thought, could have no end,

It did not on a hair depend—

Her charm could only fade.

Her little brother brought one day

A pot to me in child-like play,

Which told me my love's doom:

It bore her name, "Miss Annie Weeks;"

Beneath it, "Opoponakeeks—

The New Circassian Bloom."

The last I loved, of course, was fair,

Her charm not solely golden hair,

Nor cheek with bloom of peach;

But eyes, and nose, and teeth, and hair,

Arch'd neck, round arms, complexion fair,

She bad a charm in each.

One fatal night, at County Ball,

I saw her with a Guardsman tall,

Engaged in giddy waltz.

Worse far than locks by lucre got,

Complexions purchased by the pot—

Her heart to me was false!