Sometimes I to Pall Mall repair,
And see the damsels passing there;
But if I try to
Obtain one glance, they look discreet,
As though they'd some one else to meet;—
As have not I too?
Yet still I often think upon
Our many meetings, come and gone!
July—December!
Now let us make a tryst, and when,
Dear little soul, we meet again,—
The mansion is preparing—then
Thy Friend remember!
GERALDINE.
This simple child has claims
On your sentiment—her name's
Geraldine.
Be tender—but beware,
For she's frolicsome as fair,
And fifteen.
She has gifts that have not cloyed,
For these gifts she has employed,
And improved:
She has bliss which lives and leans
Upon loving—and that means
She is loved.
She has grace. A grace refined
By sweet harmony of mind:
And the Art,
And the blessed Nature, too,
Of a tender, and a true
Little heart.
And yet I must not vault
Over any little fault
That she owns:
Or others might rebel,
And might enviously swell
In their zones.
She is tricksy as the fays,
Or her pussy when it plays
With a string:
She's a goose about her cat,
And her ribbons—and all that
Sort of thing.
These foibles are a blot,
Still she never can do what
Is not nice,
Such as quarrel, and give slaps—
As I've known her get, perhaps,
Once or twice.