The day's play

by A. A. Milne

THE SIDESMAN

(For the Third Day running)

For what seemed weeks, but was the last two days,
I'd pottered up and down that blessed baize—
Sorting out aunts in browns and aunts in greys.

For what seemed always, but was only twice
(Looking, if I may say so, rather nice),
I'd lent a hand with hymn-sheets and with rice.

Once more the dear old bells ring out; once more
I linger, pink but anxious, at the door—
This is the third time. Here she comes! Oh, lor'!

* * * * * * *

Something on these occasions goes and thrills
My fancy waistcoat at the first "I will's";
It can't be hopeless love—it must be chills.

Something—a sinking feeling—round the heart
Clutches me closely from the very start,
And tells me I am fairly in the cart.

Something.... And yet the fiercest unconcern
So masks me that the vergers never learn
How underneath my chest I yearn and yearn.