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Keyhole in the Door

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The Keyhole in the Door

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The Keyhole in the Door

We left the parlor early
I think it was scarce nine
When by the chance of fortune
Her room was next to mine
Resolved like bold Columbus
New regions for to explore
I took a strange position
By the keyhole in the door.

In bending down in silence
And resting on my knee
Most patiently I waited
To see what I could see
She first took off her collar
It rolled upon the floor
And I watched her stoop to get it
Through the keyhole in the door
Sweet Jenny then proceeded
In taking off her dress
And most of her under garments
Some fifty more or less
But to speak the truth sincerely
I think there was a score
But I could not count exactly
Through the keyhole in the door

She then unloosed her tresses
Her waving chestnut hair
Which fell in streaming torrents
All down her shoulders bare
Then quickly she rebound them
More firmly than before
While I watched this witching process
Through the keyhole in the door

Then down upon the carpet
She sat with graceful ease
And raised her spotless linen
Above her snowy knees
Two dainty sky-blue garters
On either leg she wore
And they made a charming picture
Through the keyhole in the door

She then approached the fire
Her dainty limbs to warm
And nothing but her shimmey
Concealed her lovely form
Thinks I take off that shimmey
I ask for nothing more
Ye gods I saw her do it
Through the keyhole in the door

And then with nimble fingers she
Donned her snow white gown
And on her bed sweet Jenny
Prepared to lie her down
Thinks I a bed so ample
Might hold at least one more,
But I did not dare to say it
Through the keyhole in the door.

Then down upon the pillow
She laid her lovely head.
The light she then extinguished
And darkness veiled the bed.
No use in waiting longer
I knew the show was o'er
So my post I then abandoned
By the keyhole in the door.

So come ye men of science
Why strain your eager eyes
A-gazing at the planets
That alumernates (sic) the skies?
For there are greater wonders
That you know of in your lore
For a telescope is nothing
To a keyhole in the door.

Child #27
From Songs the Whalemen Sang, Huntington
From the Journal of the Andrew Hicks, 1879
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