Or meek grey eyes droop still more meek,
And dimples play at hide-and-seek,
There's but one language lips can speak—
'Tis brief, but rather pleasant!
In place of Lucy's hand I feel
The chilly touch of Wizard's steel,
Who brings me back from the ideal,
By talk of lime-juice water;
And beauty's fingers no more hold
My locks—they're by the barber sold