Black Beetles in Amber

Come, sisters, weep!—our Baron dear,

Alas! has run away.

If always we had kept him here

He had not gone astray.

Painter and grainer it were vain

To say he was, before;

And if he were, yet ne'er again

He'll darken here a door.

We mourn each matrimonial plan—

Even tradesmen join the cry:

He was so promising a man

Whenever he did buy.

He was a fascinating lad,

Deny it all who may;

Even moneyed men confess he had

A very taking way.

So from our tables he is gone—

Our tears descend in showers;

We loved the very fat upon.

His kidneys, for 'twas ours.

To women he was all respect

To duns as cold as ice;

No lady could his suit reject,

No tailor get its price.

He raised our hope above the sky;

Alas! alack! and O!

That one who worked it up so high

Should play it down so low!