A VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ ANTHOLOGY

A VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ
ANTHOLOGY

“I’M a florist in verse, and what would people say

If I came to a banquet without my bouquet?”

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

A
Vers de Société
Anthology

Collected by
Carolyn Wells
New York
Charles Scribner’s Sons
1907

Copyright 1907 by
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
————
Published November, 1907

NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGMENT is hereby gratefully made to the publishers for permission to use poems by the following authors:

To Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Company for poems by Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, John Greenleaf Whittier, Bret Harte, John G. Saxe, Norah Perry, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James T. Field, Edith Thomas, Edmund Clarence Stedman and Charles Henry Webb.

To Messrs. Dodd, Mead and Company for poems by Austin Dobson.

To the Macmillan Company for poems by Lewis Carroll.

To Messrs. D. Appleton and Company for “Song,” by William Cullen Bryant.

To The Century Company for poems by Robert Underwood Johnson and Mary Mapes Dodge.

To Messrs. Little, Brown and Company for “A Valentine,” by Mrs. Laura E. Richards, and “Shadows” and “Les Papillottes,” by Gertrude Hall.

To Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons for “The Debutante,” by Guy Wetmore Carryl.

To The Frederick A. Stokes Company for poems by Frank Dempster Sherman and Samuel Minturn Peck.

To The Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company for poems by Sam Walter Foss.

To Messrs. E. H. Bacon and Company for poems by James Jeffrey Roche.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

ALL collectors of Vers de Société agree that there is no possibility of an English equivalent for the French term. None exists; and the attempts to coin one have invariably resulted in failure.

Society Verse, Familiar Verse and Occasional Verse are all wide of the mark in one direction or another; and perhaps, after all, the simple term Light Verse strikes nearest home.

One might suggest Gentle Verse, but it would be with the restricted meaning of the adjective that is applied to the courteous and well-bred; the innately fine, polished by the experience and sophistication of truly good society.

Gentlefolk are never excessive. Their enthusiasms are modified, their emotions are restrained, their humor is delicate. As a result of wise and intelligent culture, their tastes are refined, their fashions correct. They breathe the air of polite worldly wisdom, which endows them with a gracious ease, and removes all trace of self-consciousness.

D’Israeli says, “Genius is not always sufficient to impart that grace of amenity which seems peculiar to those who are accustomed to elegant society.”

Gentle Verse then, would imply lines written of the gentlefolk, for the gentlefolk, and by gentlefolk.

Society Verse is an inadequate term, because Society has come to include both the gentle folk and the others.

Familiar Verse, though staunchly defended by one of our foremost men of letters, allows a latitude of informality that is too liberal for a precise equivalent. Occasional Verse is ambiguous, and Easy Verse, absurd.

Lyra Elegantiarum is an adequate translation, but not into English. And none of the graceful titles yet chosen by our modern poets from “Brightsome Balladry” to “Lingerie de Poesie” has as yet fulfilled all requirements.

Granting then that there is no perfect English translation of the French phrase, and accepting Vers de Société as our field, we are again confronted by great difficulties and embarrassments in defining its boundaries.

One of the greatest masters of the art, Mr. Austin Dobson, gives us twelve definite rules for our guidance; but of these, only three refer to the matter of the poems, the others being advice as to manner.

Though manner is equally important, yet the choice of matter for Vers de Société depends upon certain definite characteristics.

But to limit these characteristics is to ask the question, “who shall decide when doctors disagree?” The scholarly gentlemen who have devoted special attention to the matter, advance conflicting opinions.

Frederick Locker-Lampson, doubtless the greatest master of the art, both in a critical and creative way, allows wide latitude of discretion. But so infallible is his individual judgment and so unerring his taste, that it is with him, a case of “Know the Rules, and when to break them.”

He asserts that “Vers de Société by no means need be confined to topics of conventional life.”

Contradicting this, is the word of W. Davenport Adams, whose collection of “Songs of Society; from Anne to Victoria,” admirably supplements Mr. Locker-Lampson’s earlier collection.

Mr. Adams tells us that “Vers de Société should be applied to the poetry of fashionable life alone; should be limited to the doings and sayings of the world of fashion, and should deal exclusively with such things as routs and balls, and dinners and receptions.”

Our own American collector, Mr. Brander Matthews, inclines to Mr. Locker-Lampson’s views, and therefore prefers the term Familiar Verse, as allowing excursions outside of Vanity Fair; while Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman again narrows the field by declaring in favor of “the more select order of society verse,” which he designates “Patrician Rhymes.”

Indeed, authorities on the subject of Vers de Société seem somewhat in the position of the charming philosopher of Wonderland fame:

“‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.’

“‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’

“‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘Which is to be the master—that’s all.’”

But though there is variance of opinion concerning the limits of the field, there is harmony of conviction regarding the intrinsic qualities of Vers de Société.

Mr. Locker-Lampson directs us that it should be “short, graceful, refined, and fanciful, not seldom distinguished by chastened sentiment, and often playful. The tone should not be pitched high; it should be terse and idiomatic, and rather in the conversational key; the rhythm should be crisp and sparkling, and the rhyme frequent and never forced. The entire poem should be marked by tasteful moderation, high finish and completeness; for subordination to the rules of composition, and perfection of execution are of the utmost importance.

“The qualities of brevity and buoyancy are absolutely essential. The poem may be tinctured with a well-bred philosophy, it may be whimsically sad, it may be gay and gallant, it may be playfully malicious or tenderly ironical, it may display lively banter, and it may be satirically facetious; it may even, considering it merely as a work of art, be pagan in its philosophy or trifling in its tone, but it must never be flat, or ponderous, or commonplace.”

The remarks of Mr. W. Davenport Adams are much in the same line. He says, “There should be little or no enthusiasm: the Muse should not be over-earnest, nor need it by any means be over-flippant. It is essential to ‘Society verse’ that it should have the tincture of good-breeding;—that if it is lively, it should be so without being vulgar; and that if it is tender it should be so without being maudlin. Its great distinction should be ease—the entire absence of apparent effort—the presence of that playful spontaneity which proclaims the master.”

Professor Brander Matthews, in his able essay on the subject, agrees in general to all these stipulations, and observes: “No doubt, Social verse should have polish, and finish, and the well-bred ease of the man of the world; but it ought also to carry, at least a suggestion of the more serious aspects of life. It should not be frothily frivolous or coldly cynical, any more than it should be broadly comic or boisterously funny. It is at liberty to hint at hidden tears, even when it seems to be wreathed in smiles. It has no right to parade mere cleverness; and it must shun all affectation as it must avoid all self-consciousness. It should appear to possess a colloquial carelessness which is ever shrinking from the commonplace and which has succeeded in concealing every trace of that labor of the literary artist by which alone it has attained their seemingly spontaneous perfection. . . . It must eschew not merely coarseness or vulgarity, but even free and hearty laughter; and it must refrain from dealing not only with the soul-plumbing abysses of the tragic, but even with the ground-swell of any sweeping emotion. It must keep on the crest of the wave, mid-way between the utter triviality of the murmuring shadows and the silent profundity of the depths that are dumb.”

Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman’s views coincide with those above quoted, and are thus briefly summed up: “In fine, the true kind is marked by humor, by spontaneity, joined with extreme elegance of finish, by the quality we call breeding,—above all, by lightness of touch.”

These same authorities agree that not every poet may write Vers de Société. To quote Mr. Locker-Lampson: “The writer of Occasional verse, in order to be genuinely successful, must not only be something of a poet, but he must also be a man of the world, in the liberal sense of the expression; he must have associated throughout his life with the refined and cultivated members of his species, not merely as an idle bystander, but as a busy actor in the throng.”

Mr. Adams corroborates this by saying: “Although a clever literary artist may so far throw himself into the position of a man of society as to be able to write very agreeable Society verse, yet few can hope to write the best and most genuine Vers de Société who are not, or have not at one time been, in some measure at any rate, inhabitants of ‘Society.’”

As an instance, however, of the disagreement among the doctors, the following may be noted:

Mortimer Collins, himself a writer of Vers de Société, declared that the lines by Ben Jonson, beginning,

“Follow a shadow, it still flies you;”

is the most perfect bit of society verse written in our language. And speaking of the same poem, Mr. W. Davenport Adams says, “I cannot bring myself to look upon Ben Jonson as a ‘society poet,’ or upon the verses in question as a ‘society poem’ in the proper sense of the term—in the sense at least, in which I understand them.”

So we see, that in a degree, at least, Vers de Société is, like Beauty, in the eye of the beholder.

But a consensus of opinion seems to prove that the keynote of Vers de Société is lightness, both of theme and treatment. Yet though light, it must not be trashy. It is the lightness of beaten gold-leaf, not the lightness of chaff. It is valuable, not worthless.

The spirit of the work depends on an instant perception and a fine appreciation of values, seen through the medium of a whimsical kindliness.

Let this be expressed with perfect taste and skill, and with a courtly sense of humor, and the result may be classed among those immortal ephemeræ which we call Vers de Société.

A Vers de Société Anthology

TO CELIA

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I’ll not ask for wine.

The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,

Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove’s nectar sip,

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath,

Not so much honoring thee,

As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe

And sent’st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

Ben Jonson.

CUPID

BEAUTIES, have you seen this toy,

Called love, a little boy,

Almost naked, wanton, blind,

Cruel now, and then as kind?

If he be amongst ye, say!

He is Venus’ runaway.

He hath of marks about him plenty;

Ye shall know him among twenty;

All his body is a fire,

And his breath a flame entire,

That, being shot like lightning in,

Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

He doth bear a golden bow,

And a quiver, hanging low,

Full of arrows, that outbrave

Dian’s shafts, where, if he have

Any head more sharp than other,

With that first he strikes his mother.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,

Seldom with his heart do meet;

All his practice is deceit,

Every gift is but a bait;

Not a kiss but poison bears,

And most treason in his tears.

If by these ye please to know him,

Beauties, be not nice, but show him,

Though ye had a will to hide him.

Now, we hope, ye’ll not abide him,

Since ye hear his falser play,

And that he’s Venus’ runaway.

Ben Jonson.

ROSALIND’S MADRIGAL

LOVE in my bosom like a bee

Doth suck his sweet:

Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,

His bed amidst my tender breast:

My kisses are his daily feast,

And yet he robs me of my rest.

Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he

With pretty flight,

And makes his pillow of my knee

The live-long night.

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,

He music plays if so I sing,

He lends me every lovely thing:

Yet cruel he my heart doth sting:

Whist, wanton, still ye!

Else I with roses every day

Will whip you hence:

And bind you, when you long to play,

For your offence.

I’ll shut mine eyes to keep you in,

I’ll make you fast it for your sin,

I’ll count your power not worth a pin;

Alas, what hereby shall I win,

If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy

With many a rod?

He will repay me with annoy,

Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee,

And let thy bower my bosom be;

Lurk in my eyes I like of thee:

O, Cupid so thou pity me,

Spare not, but play thee.

Thomas Lodge.

ALL THINGS EXCEPT MYSELF I KNOW

I KNOW when milk does flies contain;

I know men by their bravery;

I know fair days from storm and rain;

And what fruit apple-trees supply;

And from their gums the trees descry;

I know when all things smoothly flow;

I know who toil or idle lie;

All things except myself I know.

I know the doublet by the grain;

The monk beneath the hood can spy;

Master from man can ascertain;

I know the nun’s veiled modesty;

I know when sportsmen fables ply;

Know fools who scream and dainties stow;

Wine from the butt I certify;

All things except myself I know.

Know horse from mule by tail and mane;

I know their worth or high or low;

Bell, Beatrice, I know the twain;

I know each chance of cards and die;

I know what visions prophesy,

Bohemian heresies, I trow;

I know men of each quality;

All things except myself I know.

ENVOY

Prince, I know all things ’neath the sky,

Pale cheeks from those of rosy glow;

I know death whence can no man fly;

All things except myself I know.

François Villon.

CUPID AND CAMPASPE

CUPID and my Campaspe played

At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,

His mother’s doves and team of sparrows;

Loses them too; then down he throws

The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on his cheek, but none knows how;

With these the crystal of his brow,

And then the dimple of his chin:—

All these did my Campaspe win.

At last he set her both his eyes;

She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love! has she done this to thee?

What shall, alas, become of me!

John Lilly.

A DITTY

MY true love hath my heart, and I have his,

By just exchange one to the other given:

I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,

There never was a better bargain driven:

My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one,

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:

He loves my heart, for once it was his own,

I cherish his because in me it bides:

My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

Sir Philip Sidney.

SONG FROM “TWELFTH NIGHT”

O MISTRESS mine! where are you roaming?

O! stay and hear; your true love’s coming,

That can sing both high and low:

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers’ meeting,

Every wise man’s son doth know.

What is love? ’tis not hereafter:

Present mirth hath present laughter;

What’s to come is still unsure:

In delay there lies no plenty;

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

Youth’s a stuff will not endure.

William Shakespeare.

SIGH NO MORE
(From “Much Ado About Nothing”)

SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever;

One foot in sea, and one on shore,

To one thing constant never;

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny;

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no more,

Of dumps so dull and heavy;

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy:

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny;

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into hey nonny, nonny.

William Shakespeare.

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON

IN the merry month of May,

In a morn by break of day,

With a troop of damsels playing

Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying,

When anon by a woodside,

Where as May was in his pride,

I espied, all alone,

Phillida and Corydon.

Much ado there was, God wot!

He would love, and she would not:

She said, never man was true:

He says, none was false to you.

He said, he had loved her long:

She says, Love should have no wrong.

Corydon would kiss her then,

She says, maids must kiss no men,

Till they do for good and all.

Then she made the shepherd call

All the heavens to witness, truth

Never loved a truer youth.

Thus, with many a pretty oath,

Yea, and nay, and faith and troth!—

Such as silly shepherds use

When they will not love abuse;

Love, which had been long deluded,

Was with kisses sweet concluded:

And Phillida, with garlands gay,

Was made the lady of the May.

Nicholas Breton.