A Celebration of Women Writers

"The Wooden Doll and the Wax Doll." by Adelaide O'Keefe (1776-1855)
Publication: Taylor, Jane & Taylor, Ann. Little Ann and Other Poems. London, New York: George Routledge & Sons, 1883. pp. 46-48.

Editor: Mary Mark Ockerbloom

[Page 46]

THE WOODEN DOLL AND THE WAX DOLL.

THERE were two friends, a very charming pair,
Brunette the brown, and Blanchidine the fair;
And she to love Brunette did constantly incline,
Nor less did Brunette love sweet Blanchidine.
Brunette in dress was neat, yet always plain;
But Blanchidine of finery was vain.
  Now Blanchidine a new acquaintance made–
A little girl most sumptuously array'd,
In plumes and ribbons, gaudy to behold,
And India frock, with spots of shining gold.
Said Blanchidine, "A girl so richly dress'd,
Should surely be by every one caress'd.
To play with me, if she will condescend,
Henceforth 'tis she alone shall be my friend. "
And so for this new friend in silks adorn'd,
Her poor Brunette was slighted, left, and scorn'd.
  Of Blanchidine's vast stock of pretty toys,
A wooden doll her every thought employs,

[Page 47]

Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks so red–
She kiss'd, she fondled, and she took to bed.
  Mamma now brought her home a doll of wax,
Its hair in ringlets white, and soft as flax;
Its eyes could open and its eyes could shut;
And on it, too, with taste its clothes were put.
"My dear wax doll!" sweet Blanchidine would cry–
Her doll of wood was thrown neglected by.
  One summer's day, 'twas in the month of June,
The sun blazed out all in the heat of noon:
"My waxen doll," she cried, "my dear, my charmer!
What, are you cold? but you shall soon be warmer."
She laid it in the sun–misfortune dire!
The wax ran down as if before the fire!
Each beauteous feature quickly disappear'd,
And melting, left a blank all soil'd and smear'd.
Her doll disfigured, she beheld amazed,
And thus express'd her sorrow as she gazed:
"Is it for you my heart I have estranged
From that I fondly loved, which has not changed?
Just so may change my new acquaintance fine,
For whom I left Brunette, that friend of mine.
No more by outside show will I be lured;
Of such capricious whims I think I'm cured:
To plain old friends my heart shall still be true,
Nor change for every face because 'tis new. "
Her slighted wooden doll resumed its charms,
And wronged Brunette she clasp'd within her arms.

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Editor: Mary Mark Ockerbloom