At my jokes, which a month since enjoyed such prosperity;
Howe’er I behave,
Your face is quite grave,
And your darling red lips speak unwonted severity.
Annie Lyle, Annie Lyle,
It may do for a while,
This on-ing and off-ing, repulsing and wooing:
But beware of the hour
When, escaped from your power,
No longer I seek you, beseeching and suing.