AIRS RESUMPTIVE.
II.—The Links of Love.
My heart is like a driver-club, That heaves the pellet hard and straight, That carries every let and rub. The whole performance really great; My heart is like a bulger-head, That whiffles on the wily tee,— Because my love distinctly said She'd halve the round of life with me.
My heart is also like a cleek, Resembling most the mashie sort, That spanks the object, so to speak, Across the sandy bar to port; And hers is like a putting green, The haven where I boast to be, For she assures me she is keen To halve the round of life with me.
Some wear their hearts upon their sleeve, And others lose 'em on the links; (This play of words is, by your leave, Rather original, one thinks;) Therefore my heart is like to some Lost ball that nestles on the lea, Because my love has kindly come To halve the round of life with me.
Raise me a bunker, if you can, That beetles o'er a deadly ditch, Where any but the bogey-man Is practically bound to pitch; Plant me beneath a hedge of thorn, Or up a figurative tree, What matter, when my love has sworn To halve the round of life with me?