Rattle the Ivory Latch of Love
And who will unbar the gate?
Ask no questions, my dearest love,
But wait—wait—wait.
Ah, will she be haughty Isabeau,
Pale Isodore, or Kate?
Hush, dearest dear, some day you'll know,
Be not importunate.
Perchance I might love Isodore,
I think I could love Kate;