 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
71
MY LADY.
My lady's eyes are bright and blue,
Her hair is soft and golden,
Her voice is sweeter than the coo
Of turtle doves when turtles woo.
Her bright smile would embolden
The faintest lover. More than this
She often clambers for a kiss.
Her hair is soft and golden,
Her voice is sweeter than the coo
Of turtle doves when turtles woo.
Her bright smile would embolden
The faintest lover. More than this
She often clambers for a kiss.
Her little hands are soft and fat,
Her elbows have a dimple,
Her dress is quite superb; a hat
And snowy feather, think of that!
And yet her tastes are simple;
Red cape, blue sash, blue skirt, and blue's
The color of her funny shoes.
Her elbows have a dimple,
Her dress is quite superb; a hat
And snowy feather, think of that!
And yet her tastes are simple;
Red cape, blue sash, blue skirt, and blue's
The color of her funny shoes.
My lady is not coy,
Upon my lap already
She'll often sit; and to my joy
She calls me “Fy,” or “my dear boy,”
(She can't quite manage “Teddy,”)
Around my neck her arms she'll fold,
And yet—you couldn't call her bold!
Upon my lap already
She'll often sit; and to my joy
She calls me “Fy,” or “my dear boy,”
(She can't quite manage “Teddy,”)
Around my neck her arms she'll fold,
And yet—you couldn't call her bold!
72
She says that she will be my wife
When I'm inclined to marry,
How sweet, how sweet she'll make my life!
I have no fear of wedded strife;
Then wherefore should I tarry?
Well, if the truth must here be told,
My lady's only three years old.
When I'm inclined to marry,
How sweet, how sweet she'll make my life!
I have no fear of wedded strife;
Then wherefore should I tarry?
Well, if the truth must here be told,
My lady's only three years old.
September 25th, 1881.
| A little book of tribune verse | |