And shiny is each mackintosh,
Each hat and coat well soaken:
My spirits droop, and as I scan
That Beauty in a trim randan,
I fear my heart is broken!
She hath a graceful little head,
Her lips are ripe and round and red,
Her teeth are short and pearly;
And on a rosy sun-kissed cheek
Her dimples play at hide-and-seek,