TO EVANGELINE.
Oh, come and be my Queen,
And share my lot
In some artistic cot
At Turnham Green,
EVANGELINE!
The painted tambourine
Shall grace its wall,
And many a table small
And folding screen
Shall on its floor be seen,
EVANGELINE!
Your beauty's dazzling sheen
Upsets me quite—
Of late my appetite
Has wretched been,
EVANGELINE!
I shun the soup tureen
And pine for you;
At pudding, joint, and stew
My face turns green—
What do the symptoms mean,
EVANGELINE?
If Fate should come between
My Love and me,
This countenance will be
No more serene,
EVANGELINE!
With nitro-glycerine
I'll speed my flight,
Or else I will ignite
Some Magazine—
Some Powder Magazine,
EVANGELINE!