[Gutenberg 42407] • Misrepresentative Women

The bride grows pale beneath her veil,

The matron, for the nonce, is dumb,

Who listens to the tragic tale

Of Mrs. Christopher Columb:

Who lived and died (so says report)

A widow of the herbal sort.

Her husband upon canvas wings

Would brave the Ocean, tempest-tost;

He had a cult for finding things

Which nobody had ever lost,

And Mrs. C. grew almost frantic

When he discovered the Atlantic.

But nothing she could do or say

Would keep her Christopher at home;

Without delay he sailed away

Across what poets call “the foam,”

While neighbors murmured, “What a shame!”

And wished their husbands did the same.

He ventured on the highest C’s

That reared their heads above the bar,

Knowing the compass and the quays

Like any operatic star;

And funny friends who watched him do so

Would call him “Robinson Caruso.”

But Mrs. C. remained indoors,

And poked the fire and wound the clocks,

Amused the children, scrubbed the floors,

Or darned her absent husband’s socks.

(For she was far too sweet and wise

To darn the great explorer’s eyes.)