As in the boyhood of the year
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro’ the converts—Pauly dear,
And Trixie galloped—she in fear,
She seemed apart from her steed’s spring!
A gown of fated check she wore,
Buckled with silver clasps before,
A light straw hat embroidered o’er
With woolen bird a-wing.
Now this way leaned she, now she let