Red Riding-Hood

Sweet little myth of the nursery story-- Earliest love of mine infantile breast, Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory Into existence, as thou art addressed! Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good-- Thou are so dear to me, Red Riding-Hood! Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder, Over the dawn of a blush breaking out; Sensitive nose, with a little smile under Trying to hide in a blossoming pout-- Couldn't be serious, try as you would, Little mysterious Red Riding-Hood! Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely, Out in this gloomy old forest of Life!-- Here are not pansies and buttercups only-- Brambles and briers as keen as a knife; And a Heart, ravenous, trails in the wood For the meal have he must,--Red Riding-Hood!