Or gaze in her frank eyes’ blue?
I feel, not anger, but pity,
When workmates go to the bad;
I say, “They’ve never a Kitty—
They’d all keep square if they had.”
Bless her, my own, my wee,
She’s better than gold to me!
One day she will stand at the altar,
Modest, and white, and still,
And forth from her lips will falter