When hearts are trumps | Page 7

tongue not too tart,?Of presenting papaw?With a new son-in-law,?Down at the beach,--?If a man's within reach.
A Drop Too Much.
I praised her hair, I praised her lips,?She looked up with surprise;?I bowed to kiss her finger-tips,?And then she dropped her eyes.
I said love ruled the world; that I?Adored her; called her "Nan."?She merely looked a little shy,?And then she dropped her fan.
I took the hint, and at her feet?I knelt--yes, quite absurd;?But oh, my fond heart wildly beat?To hear her drop a word.
I told her all: my talents few,?My direful lack of pelf.?(We all have erred.) She said "Adieu,"?And then dropped me myself.
Ingratitude.
Last night young Cupid lost his way,?And came to me to find it.?He'd been a truant all the day,?But didn't seem to mind it.
I put him in a hansom then?For home, and feed the cabby;?But my reward was what most men?Would call extremely shabby.
He got his bow and arrows out,?And pierced my heart, nor tarried,?But drove away ere I could shout,?"Great Heavens, Cupe, I'm married!"
A Few Resolutions.
(With Reservations)
He shall never know that I love him--?Until he asks if I do.?And I'll feel very much above him--?When he stoops to tie my shoe.
And I shall never kiss him--?Until he kisses me.?And I shall never miss him--?Till he sails over the sea.
And I shall never wed him,?Nor call myself his bride--?Till Cupid and I have led him?Right up to the minister's side.
A Dilemma.
A letter for me,?From the girl that I love!?Just penned by her hand?And caressed by her glove.?A jewel--a gem--ah!?A letter from Emma.
A letter for me,?Oh, what joy, what surprise!?Just kissed by her lips--?At least, blest by her eyes.?'T is opened--ahem, ah!?A letter from Emma.
A letter for me,?From my sweet little bird.?Eight pages, by Jove!?And I can't read a word.?A precious dilemma,?This letter from Emma!
A Choice not Necessary.
Here is a rose,?Here is a kiss;?Which do you choose??One rhymes with prose;?One rhymes with bliss.?Ah, you amuse.
You hesitate,?You blush, you sigh.?What! are you loath??'Tis getting late;?Be quick--?Fool, take them both!
That Boston Girl.
Her voice is sweet,?Her style is neat;?She'd move the world with but a pen.?Her mind is clear;?Her sight, though near,?Is long enough to capture men.?What matters it her learning, then?
The Hero.
He looked so handsome, proud, and brave,?As he stood there, straight and tall,?With his steadfast eyes, so gray, so grave,?The beau of the Hunt Club ball.
Ah me, full many a white breast sighed?For the favor of his hand,--?For the love of a heart so true, so tried,?For life, you understand.
He looked a hero; he was more,?A martyr, too, perchance;?For he went to the oldest girl on the floor,?And led her out to dance.
The Sweet Summer Girl.
She has hair that is fluffy, straight, banged, or half curled; Has a parasol, oft by her deft fingers twirled.?She has eyes either brown or black, gray or true blue;?Has a neat fitting glove and a still neater shoe.
She has cheeks that make bitter the envious rose;?She has trunks upon trunks of the costliest clothes;?She has jewels that shine as the stars do at night;?And she dances as Ariel dances--or might.
She knows nothing much, but she's great on the smile;?Her profession is love, and she flirts all the while;?She's accustomed to sitting on rocks in the glen;?She is also accustomed to sitting on men.
Her Fan.
A dainty thing of silk and lace,?Of feathers, and of paint,?Held often to her laughing face?When I assume the saint.
Too dainty far to mix with these?Old pipes, cigars, and books?Of bachelordom,--rare life of ease,--?Rare friends, rare wines, rare cooks.
'Twill smell of stale tobacco smoke?Ere many days I fear,?And hear full many a rattling joke,?And feel, perhaps, a tear.
Why is it here? Alas for me!?I broke it at a ball.?"Apologize--repair it" See??Five dollars gone,--that's all.
Certainty.
Phyllis, love may be for you,?But it is not for me;?For fortune comes between us two,?And says it must not be.
Another fellow's fortune, too;?A million, as I know.?You ask me how I found it out??Your mater told me so.
Caught.
When Phyllis turned her eyes on me?I blushed and hesitated;?For though on terms familiar, we?Were not at all related.
I felt her mild, reproachful glance,?And knew her words would rankle.?To tell the truth, I had, by chance,?Been looking at her ankle.
An Important Distinction.
She said, without a single sigh,?And hardly hesitation,?That she would be my sister, aye,?Or any fond relation.
I answered cunningly, "Ah me,?I've sisters by the dozen;?Please make it in the next degree,?For one may wed a cousin."
Two Kinds.
Oh, her eyes, her beautiful eyes!?How they melt when she sobs or she sighs!?How they droop?When she blushes!?How they flash?When she crushes?The love she's compelled to disguise!
Oh, her i's, her beautiful i's!?Who can tell them apart though he tries?From her m's?Or her e's,?N's, or u's?As you please?In her letters? I offer a prize.
What it Is.
Just a little melancholy,?Just a tear or two,?Just a word that's naughty,?Just a spiteful "pooh!"
Just an extra cocktail,?Just a flower-bill