 | The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod |  |
MISCHIEVOUS! GEORGE IS OUT HIS SENSES
Mischievous George is out his senses
Or else his cranium very dense is,
I cannot call her aught (can you)
But pretty, simple, quiet Lou.
Or else his cranium very dense is,
I cannot call her aught (can you)
But pretty, simple, quiet Lou.
Her eyes soft glances that betray
Quicker than flies the solar ray
The stainless thoughts that glow within
A bosom never known to sin,
He calls a covering to cheat
As if chicanery could look sweet
He's felt your wit [?] (has he not Lou?)
And in his spite would slander you.
Quicker than flies the solar ray
The stainless thoughts that glow within
A bosom never known to sin,
32
As if chicanery could look sweet
He's felt your wit [?] (has he not Lou?)
And in his spite would slander you.
And if she's broken many hearts
'Tis not I'm sure by fulsome arts,
And if she keeps her-own still whole
'Tis not that she's in want of soul,
But like the flower—whose fragrance mild
Induces the delighted child
Its spotless folds to leave unharm'd
Her virtues pitying Love disarm'd.
Thus in her excellence secure
Could Cupid blight a bud so pure?
And with those witching beauties too
She always is the modest Lou.
'Tis not I'm sure by fulsome arts,
And if she keeps her-own still whole
'Tis not that she's in want of soul,
But like the flower—whose fragrance mild
Induces the delighted child
Its spotless folds to leave unharm'd
Her virtues pitying Love disarm'd.
Thus in her excellence secure
Could Cupid blight a bud so pure?
And with those witching beauties too
She always is the modest Lou.
Merit like this before his face
To yield consent with such bad grace!
I'd give my all (some two three sous)
To style her—only Cousin Lou.
To yield consent with such bad grace!
I'd give my all (some two three sous)
To style her—only Cousin Lou.
| The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod | |