Puslapio vaizdai
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DAISY'S VALENTINES

ALL night through Daisy's sleep, it seems,

Have ceaseless "rat-tats" thundered;

All night through Daisy's rosy dreams
Have devious Postmen blundered,
Delivering letters round her bed,-
Mysterious missives, sealed with red,
And franked of course with due Queen's head,—
While Daisy lay and wondered.

But now, when chirping birds begin,
And Day puts off the Quaker,—
When Cook renews her morning din,
And rates the cheerful baker,—
She dreams her dream no dream at all,
For, just as pigeons come at call,
Winged letters flutter down, and fall
Around her head, and wake her.

Yes, there they are! With quirk and twist,
And fraudful arts directed;

(Save Grandpapa's dear stiff old "fist,"
Through all disguise detected;)

But which is his, her young Lothair's,-
Who wooed her on the school-room stairs
With three sweet cakes, and two ripe pears,
In one neat pile collected?

"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,
In just this same emblazoned way,
His transient vows transmitted?

He may be true. Yet, Daisy dear,
That even youth grows colder
You'll find is no new thing, I fear;

And when you're somewhat older,
You'll read of one Dardanian boy
Who "wooed with gifts" a maiden coy,—
Then took the morning train to Troy,
In spite of all he'd told her.

But wait. Your time will come.
Obliging Fates, please send her

The bravest thing you have in men,

And then,

Sound-hearted, strong, and tender ;-
The kind of man, dear Fates, you know,
That feels how shyly Daisies grow,
And what soft things they are, and so
Will spare to spoil or mend her.

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;
Ink gets dry in the bottle.

"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,
Careless of Town and all in it!——

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,
As only one's feminine kin do,—
Bluebottle, then I shall kill 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,
To dash one with eau de Cologne ;--
Bluebottle's off and away;

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.

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