Her every step was melody,
Her every motion grace,
That one might prize a thousand eyes
To note both form and face.
The motes that dance in sunny beams
Tripped never in such wise;
This lovely sprite danced in the light
That beamed from her own eyes.
A man's head once was danced away—
You know how it befell?
My dainty fay danced yesterday
Men's hearts away as well.
What 's that? 'Twas but a graceful girl
That took the hearts for pelf?
Nay, I was there, and 't was, I swear,
Terpsichore herself.
THE APRIL-FACE
AN OLD IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR
All up the street at a stately pace
The maiden passed with her April-face,
And the roses I 'd paid for, on her breast
Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest,
While behind her—driver upon his stool—
Tinkled the bell of the street-car mule.
"Going to walk up the street?" I said;
She graciously bowed her beautiful head.
"Then I 'll walk, too; 't is a lovely day."—
Thus I opened the ball in my usual way.
"Do you see the car anywhere?" inquired
The April-face, "I 'm a trifle tired."
I urged a walk; 'twas a useless suit!
She wildly waved her parachute;
The stub-tailed mule stopped quick enow;
I handed her in with a stately bow;
And the bell rang out with a jangled quirk,
As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk.