A Modern Damosel

A Modern Damosel.
344.5

The Blessed Damosel leaned out
From a motor-car at even;
She promised when she left her home
She would be back by seven.
And now, long miles from anywhere,
“Twas quarter-past eleven.

Her coat was mud from clasp to hem,
Her chiffon veil was torn;
Her goggles and her motor-hood
All crookedly were worn;
Her hair that lay along her back
Looked perfectly forlorn.

“I wish the old machine would go!
Why won’t it go?” she cried;
“Have you not cranked it thoroughly,
And oiled it well beside?
I’m sure you could have made it go
If you had only tried!”

She gazed at him, and then remarked (Less sad of speech than mad),
“I hate a car that bucks and balks!
I think it is too bad!
I wish that I had stayed at home – I really wish I had!”

“We’ve lost our way! We’ve broken down!
We won’t get home for years!
That last collision bent the clutch,
And smashed the thing that steers.”
Then, like the car, she too broke down And wept.
(I heard her tears.)
-Carolyn Wells.