With Cupid at the helm.
Anon, a faint smile pursed her lips
And shook her dainty finger-tips,
As breezes shake the boughs;
And then a quick, impetuous frown
Came gathering from her ringlets down,
And perched upon her brows.
Ah, she was thinking then, I ween,
Of me, poor clumsy dunce, who e'en
Had torn her silken dress.