DAISY'S VALENTINES ALL night through Daisy's sleep, it seems, Have ceaseless "rat-tats" thundered; All night through Daisy's rosy dreams But now, when chirping birds begin, Yes, there they are! With quirk and twist, (Save Grandpapa's dear stiff old "fist," But which is his, her young Lothair's,- "Tis there, be sure. Though truth to speak (If truth may be permitted), I doubt that young "gift-bearing Greek" Is scarce for fealty fitted; For has he not (I grieve to say) To two loves more, on this same day, He may be true. Yet, Daisy dear, And when you're somewhat older, But wait. Your time will come. The bravest thing you have in men, And then, Sound-hearted, strong, and tender ;- IN TOWN "The blue fly sung in the pane."-TENNYSON, OILING in Town now is "horrid," TOILIN (There is that woman again!)— June in the zenith is torrid, Thought gets dry in the brain. There is that woman again: "Strawberries! fourpence a pottle!" Thought gets dry in the brain; "Strawberries! fourpence a pottle!" Oh for the green of a lane!— Ink gets dry in the bottle; "Buzz" goes a fly in the pane! Oh for the green of a lane, Where one might lie and be lazy! "Buzz" goes a fly in the pane; Bluebottles drive me crazy! Where one might lie and be lazy, Bluebottles drive me crazy: I shall go mad in a minute! Careless of Town and all in it, With some one to soothe and to still you ;I shall go mad in a minute; Bluebottle, then I shall kill you! With some one to soothe and to still you, There now! I've broken the window! As only one's feminine kin do, Some muslin-clad Mabel or May!— There now! I've broken the window! Bluebottle's off and away! Some muslin-clad Mabel or May, And why should I stay here alone! To dash one with eau de Cologne, All over one's eminent forehead ;And why should I stay here alone! Toiling in Town now is "horrid." A SONNET IN DIALOGUE FRANK (on the Lawn). COME to the Terrace, May, the sun is low. COME MAY (in the House). Thanks, I prefer my Browning here instead. FRANK. There are two peaches by the strawberry bed. MAY. They will be riper if we let them grow. FRANK. Then the Park-aloe is in bloom, you know. MAY. Also, her Majesty Queen Anne is dead. FRANK. But surely, May, your pony must be fed. |