Myrtilla, to-night
Wears Jacqueminot roses.
Charles Henry Lüders.
THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA BROWN
THOUGH I met her in the summer, when one’s heart lies ‘round at ease
As it were in tennis costume, and a man’s not hard to please;
Yet I think at any season to have met her was to love,
While her tones, unspoiled, unstudied, had the softness of the dove.
At request she read us poems, in a nook among the pines,