XV.
’T was a long parting, but the time
For breakfast had come;
Before they had tucked their napkins in,
A basket of rolls and scones
Were put before them, and doughnuts,
Heaven in a glaze,
A heaven of breads, the privilege
Of drooling with a gaze.
No meals of oats for them,
Nor sausages with corn,
But piping hot fruit tartlets
And omelets not least bit torn.
Was supper e’er like this?
Slabs of bacon, crisp,
With hashed brown potatoes—
And mounts of buttered grits!
—
Dickinson’s second draft.
