(To the sweet bard of The Woman's Club, Miss Alice Ruth Moore.)
I peer adown a shining group,
Where sages grace the throng,
And see the bard of Wheatley Club
Proclaimed the Queen of Song.
I see her reach the portico,
Where muses smiling now,
Adorn with the green laurel wreath,
Her broad and thoughtful brow.
Fair Alice! shed thy radiance more,
And charm us with thy verse;
So dulcet, so harmonious,
So graceful, sweet, and terse.