ON THE ITALIAN RIVIERA.
England to her France.
This is a joyous trysting-place, my love,
With no inconstant climate to distract us;
Pure azure is the sky that laughs above
These admirable bowers of prickly cactus,
Where we may nestle, conjugating amo
(Dear old San Remo!).
We've had our difference, as lovers do;
A slight misunderstanding came between us;
But that is past; the sky (I said) is blue
And this the very sea that nurtured Venus;
Come, like her doves amid the groves of myrtle—
Come, let us turtle.
"How can they ever kiss again?" 'twas said;
But Love made light of that absurd conundrum;
And lo! your breast is pillow to my head,
And we've a pair of hearts that beat as one drum;
Our bonds, if anything, are even more
Tight than before.
Your independence caused a passing pain,
But now, I thank you, I am feeling better;
You'll never go upon your own again
Nor I will write another nasty letter;
Embrace me, then, for sign of love's renewal,
Mon bijou (jewel).
O.S.