Herewith I send, of my friendship a token,
A tortoise-shell comb from Galle;
A pocket mirror not easily broken,
A harp, and a squeaking doll.
In conclusion, dear Green, I may add that I wish
I knew some sweet sub-marine girls:
I have no objections to marrying fish—
Provided they've plenty of pearls.
The old Buffer's advice.
Come Frank, my boy, take my advice,
And hear out what I say—
If you get so sweet on the girls you meet
There'll be the deuce to pay!
For what's your paltry 300 a month?
Take care! It's a funny thing—
But if you pull the ropes, you must
Expect the bells to ring!
There was Clara White:—I admit she was
A girl you might call 'nice.'
Jones thought so—spoon'd—was hook'd! They're poor,
Both of them, as church mice.
How they will manage, goodness knows!
Ah Frank, it's a serious thing—
But if you pull the ropes, you must
Expect the bells to ring!
And then there's D. P. W. Smith,
He married Alice Gray.
Ten months have passed. Now Frank, just guess
What happened yesterday—
Smith's wife presented him with twins!
Ah Frank, it's an AWFUL thing—
But if you pull the ropes, you must
Expect the bells to ring!
My Whiskers
I sit alone in my garden:
Around, the moonlight flows:
And the air is faint with the fragrance
Of the too-sweet tuberose.
By the lilies and dewy myrtles
The fireflies rise and fall;
And the peerless yucca raises
Her silver coronal.
Now the night-loving cactus,
Like a Hebe, holdeth up,
To the dew and showery moonlight,
Many a milk-white cup.