THE QUEEN OF HEARTSBy Christina RossettiHow comes it, Flora, that, whenever wePlay cards together, you invariably,However the pack parts,Still hold the Queen of Hearts?

I’ve scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze,Resolved to fathom these your secret ways:But, sift them as I will,Your ways are secret still.

I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again;But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain:Vain hope, vain forethought too;The Queen still falls to you.

I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the dealWas dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel:‘There should be one card more,’You said, and searched the floor.

I cheated once; I made a private notchIn Heart-Queen’s back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch;Yet such another backDeceived me in the pack:The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknownAn imitative dint that seemed my own;This notch, not of my doing,Misled me to my ruin.

It baffles me to puzzle out the clue,Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you:Unless, indeed, it beNatural affinity.

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