An awkward, verdant "maid of work,"
Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk,
While rummaging among
Unused apartments, with a jerk
The door wide open flung.
And lo! there lay, uprooted quite,
The object of my heart's delight—
I did not weep or rant,
And yet a grain or two of spite
My secret thoughts would haunt.
So when at night her favorite beau
Beside his charmer sat below—
That is, dans le cuisine—
Occurred, as all the neighbors know,
A semi-tragic scene.
The garden hose, obscured from view,
Turned on itself and drenched the two—
A hapless circumstance
That lengthened out her "frizzes" new,
But shrunk his Sunday pants.
Remember this was years agone—
The madcap now hath sober grown
And hose is better wrought,
And neither now would run alone
The risk of being caught.
On the Common.
We met on "Boston Common"—
Of course it was by chance—
A sudden, unexpected,
But happy circumstance
That gave the dull October day
A beautiful, refulgent ray.
Like wandering refugees from
A city of renown,
Impelled to reconnoiter
This Massachusetts town,
Each by a common object urged,
Upon the park our paths converged.