Well, Mabel, 'tis over and ended--
   The ball I wrote was to be;
And oh! it was perfectly splendid--
   If you could have been here to see.
I've a thousand things to write you
   That I know you are wanting to hear,
And one, that is sure to delight you--
   I am wearing Joe's diamond, my dear!

Yes, mamma is quite ecstatic
   That I am engaged to Joe;
She thinks I am rather erratic,
   And feared that I might say "no."
But, Mabel, I'm twenty-seven
   (Though nobody dreams it, dear),
And a fortune like Joe's isn't given
   To lay at one's feet each year.

You know my old fancy for Harry--
   Or, at least, I am certain you guessed
That it took all my sense not to marry
   And go with that fellow out west.
But that was my very first season--
   And Harry was poor as could be,
And mamma's good practical reason
   Took all the romance out of me.

She whisked me off over the ocean,
   And had me presented at court,
And got me all out of the notion
   That ranch life out west was my forte.
Of course I have never repented--
   I'm not such a goose of a thing;
But after I had consented
   To Joe--and he gave me the ring--

I felt such a queer sensation.
   I seemed to go into a trance,
Away from the music's pulsation,
   Away from the lights and the dance.
And the wind o'er the wild prairie
   Seemed blowing strong and free,
And it seemed not Joe, but Harry
   Who was standing there close to me.

And the funniest feverish feeling
   Went up from my feet to my head,
With little chills after it stealing--
   And my hands got as numb as the dead.
A moment, and then it was over:
   The diamond blazed up in my eyes,
And I saw in the face of my lover
   A questioning, strange surprise.

Maybe 'twas the scent of the flowers,
   That heavy with fragrance bloomed near,
But I didn't feel natural for hours;
   It was odd now, wasn't it, dear?
Write soon to your fortunate Clara
   Who has carried the prize away,
And say you'll come on when I marry;
   I think it will happen in May.

Kingdom of love and How Salvator won by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago, W.B. Conkey company [1902].

Back to Poem Index