A HINT.
Our Daisy lay down
In her little night-gown,
And kissed me again and again,
On forehead and cheek,
On lips that would speak,
But found themselves shut, to their gain.
Then, foolish, absurd,
To utter a word,
I asked her the question so old,
That wife and that lover
Ask over and over,
As if they were surer when told!
There, close at her side,
“Do you love me?” I cried;
She lifted her golden-crowned head;
A puzzled surprise
Shone in her gray eyes—
“Why, that’s why I kiss you!” she said.
Anna C. Brackett.
