Sonnets from the Equestrian

My tail, 'tis dreadful thus to part with thee,

Who hast my constant solace ever been,

Whose silken curls I would adore, unseen,

Though joie de vivre were so far from me.

And pray thou thinkest me no infidel,

Thou, whom of all the tail-hairs in the world,

Though some perhaps more graciously were curled,

Thee nearest to my heart I ever held.

Dry thou my tears, I beg thee—for they rage—

Yet hope not thus to stall our parting slice.

Thy lovely, luscious violet must suffice

Yon water dragon's temper to assuage;

Lest now, for want of generosity,

Our virgin land in nightmares shackled be.