In the jolliest ball of the year.

It is all as I dreamt it would happen—

The rooms grown oppressive with heat,

And my darling, alarm’d with the crowding,

Suggesting a timely retreat.

“Not there; not among the exotics;

I faint with that fragrance of theirs.

Let us go—it will be so refreshing—

And find out a seat on the stairs.”

How dear are the lips that could utter