Verse > Anthologies > T. H. Ward, ed. > The English Poets > Vol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
Thomas Humphry Ward, ed.  The English Poets.  1880–1918.
Vol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
My Mistress’s Boots
By Frederick Locker-Lampson (1821–1895)
 She has dancing eyes and ruby lips,
Delightful boots—and away she skips.

THEY nearly strike me dumb,—
I tremble when they come
This palpitation means
These Boots are Geraldine’s—        5
          Think of that!
O, where did hunter win
So delicate a skin
          For her feet?
You lucky little kid,        10
You perish’d, so you did,
          For my Sweet.
The faery stitching gleams
On the sides, and in the seams,
          And reveals        15
That the Pixies were the wags
Who tipt these funny tags,
          And these heels.
What soles to charm an elf!—
Had Crusoe, sick of self,        20
          Chanced to view
One printed near the tide,
O, how hard he would have tried
          For the two!
For Gerry’s debonair,        25
And innocent and fair
          As a rose;
She’s an Angel in a frock,—
She’s an Angel with a clock
          To her hose!        30
The simpletons who squeeze
Their pretty toes to please
Would positively flinch
From venturing to pinch        35
Cinderella’s lefts and rights
To Geraldine’s were frights:
          And I trow
The Damsel, deftly shod,        40
Has dutifully trod
          Until now.
Come, Gerry, since it suits
Such a pretty Puss (in Boots)
          These to don,        45
Set your dainty hand awhile
On my shoulder, Dear, and I’ll
          Put them on.

  ALBURY, June 29, 1864.

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