Poems (Argent)/Prima Donna

by Alice Emily Argent

PRIMA DONNA.

LET others boast their singers fine—
 Sims Reeves and Mary Davies,—
I know a greater far than these
 A little 'rara avis!'

She equals Santley's purest notes,
 Albani's tuneful measure,
E'en Titiens cannot vie with her
 Or give me half such pleasure.

For me she sits and sings all day,
 A song that none can capture,
It is so fairy-like and low,
 Yet, full of careless rapture.

Then can you wonder that my heart
 Should fondly dote upon her,
And that within my world she stands
 The only Prima Donna!

But you would like to know her name,
 If she be young and pretty?
1 think her both, but you don't know
 My dainty Persian Kitty!

Such eyes she has of golden brown,
 As if the sun had caught them,
Like shining lamps—as if some sprite
 With fire had made and wrought them.

And then what singer on the stage,
 Dressed finely in the fashion,
Can rival her soft velvet fur
 And gaze of wayward passion?

Or own a footfall half as light
 With cushioned feet so tender,
And little ears so quaintly set
 Upon a headpiece slender.

For me she sings with ne'er a thought
 For money or for praises:
Oh! may her grave when she doth die
 Be crowned with simple daisies.

Of cats she is the cat of cats,
 The "Empress" is her title,
But hark! will any one take seats,
 She's giving a recital!!