 | Words by the Wayside |  |
13
Lips and Eyes
O those lips,
And the pert young pout o' them!
Red rose hips
Are but pale, I vow, to them:
Yet little bliss
You'll reap, I doubt, o' them:
Ask one kiss,
And No drops out o' them.
And the pert young pout o' them!
Red rose hips
Are but pale, I vow, to them:
Yet little bliss
You'll reap, I doubt, o' them:
Ask one kiss,
And No drops out o' them.
O those eyes,
And the restless rove o' them!
Love's dart flies
From the bows bent over them—
Dart upon dart,
No shield to cover them!
My fond heart
Fell dead for love o' them.
And the restless rove o' them!
Love's dart flies
From the bows bent over them—
Dart upon dart,
No shield to cover them!
My fond heart
Fell dead for love o' them.
| Words by the Wayside | |