Having managed to discover what is dear Nærea's "size":
P'raps to touch that wrist so slender, as your tiny gift you tender,
And to read you're no offender, in those laughing hazel eyes.
Then to hear her call you "Harry," when she makes you fetch and carry—
O young men about to marry, what a blessed thing it is!
To be photograph'd—together—cased in pretty Russia leather—
Hear her gravely doubting whether they have spoilt your honest phiz!
Then to bring your plighted fair one first a ring—a rich and rare one—
Next a bracelet, if she'll wear one, and a heap of things beside;
And serenely bending o'er her, to inquire if it would bore her