“O, the spring is sweet in London, Rose; the sun shines in the Park
Very near as warm and happy as it used to shine at home—
What’s the use of sitting sighing in my bedroom cold and dark
When there’s many a girl will walk with me, if only asked to come?
“There’s lots of pretty faces, Dear, in all this jostling throng,
There’s the girls I see at lunch-time in the tea-shop or the street,
And the lady in the boarding-house, who sings me many a song
In the drawing-room after dinner, O, her voice is soft and sweet!
“And I haven’t always wandered, all alone, with thoughts of you,
And I’ve kissed sometimes (not often) other lips, my Rose, than yours,