Pauline

 

Pauline - A Poem

By F.B. MONEY COUTTS 

 IN a back street, in a back quarter, lived 
Pauline 
In Paris- called of France the queen; 

Howbeit gloom and grief are there, 

In corners that do not appear.

Where Pauline lived the street was narrow, 

Shunned even by the jaunty sparrow; 

He found no sun in which to bask, 

Though light's a little boon to ask. 

All day sat Pauline at her work 

In that bad back-street, close and murk, 

Which, seemed perverse and in disgrace, 

To shun the day's benignant face. 

And yet this little jacket-trimmer, 

Of Nature's beauty had a glimmer, 

One little plant she kept alive; 

'Twas marvel how she could contrive. 

It was a rose-tree in a pot- 

No bunch of blue forget-me-not 

To maiden, new-betrothed, so sweet; 

To poet never bloom so meet. 

Yet cherish it howe'er she might, 

It could not brook eternal night; 

And not the sunshine of her eyes 

Could for its vital need suffice. 

So every day, for light and air, 

She bore it with her to the square, 

And talked to it till she was glad; 

It was the only friend she had. 

She placed it in the plots of sun, 

Counting its petals, one by one; 

And almost thought, with happy laugh, 

Its draughts of sun she saw it quaff. 

And so it branched, and so it flowered, 

And Pauline was right richly dowered, 

Instead of being a sun to it, 

In her it kept the sunshine lit. 

Fresh breezes seemed to haunt its scent, 

A ray of sun seemed in it pent, 

And like a bee, deep buried there, 

Would Pauline's spirit cease from care. 

And all this happened in an alley; 

And Pauline might have been a Sally, 

Or Jane, or any mother's daughter; 

And what could Pauline's rose have taught 

her?

Is it to cherish things of beauty, 

However ugly be thy duty? 

And if thou hast not roses red, 

A lovely thought will do instead. 

Or is it this-thy soul to tend 

And care and nurture on it spend, 

And give it times when it may lie 

Like flowers that look into the sky? 

References:

Friendly leaves 1882

The Pauline 1903