But flirting was in her inborn,
Like brains and queerness in the Beechers.
I do not fear your heartless flirt—
Obtuse her dart and dull her probe is;
But when girls do not mean to hurt,
But do—Orate tunc pro nobis!
A most romantic country place;
The moon at full, the month of August;
An inland lake across whose face
Played gentle zephyrs, ne’er a raw gust.