Chemistry

Oh, how she hates!
Precipitates!
When she equates
The very fates
Tremble in fear.

Towards the skies
Her hairs arise!
She can't look wise
Although she tries—
All is in vain.

Her shining nose
Bright purple grows.
Magenta rose
Beside her goes
A lovely hue.

Sulphuric weak
The ferries seek.
With aspect bleak
And noisy creak
They won't add up.

Then oxides fair
Approach her there.
Her brain is sere
And full of fear,
They won't break down!

"Oh, fool am I!
What use to try?"
With awful sigh
She says she'll die
Immediately.

"Sweet Cyanide.
Take me for bride!
At thy grim side
I'd rather bide,
Than do more Chemistry."

We have read this forwards, backwards and crossways, and held it up to the light, but we still feel that there is a stitch dropped somewhere:—

When I consider how my life is passed.
Yea, all my days, in this cruel world and wide.
In trying hard my brainless state to hide
From haughty profs., who censure all things fast
With faces set in conscientious cast—
(Art sure they never to fair Pleasure hied,
These noble men who their base selves denied ?
No, work has been their creed from first to last)
But I alas! am cast in weaker mould,
My fluffy, frivolous head is full of froth
That shines like soapsuds on a washing day—
Bah! Higher Education leaves me cold—
I loathe dark paths of learning like the moth—
I love the light, although it does not pay.

D.O.

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