'Tis only a woman—a woman, that's all,
And, as only a woman can,
Bringing a heart to her beck and call
By waving her feather fan.
'Tis only a woman, and I—'twere best
To forget that waving fan.
She only a woman—you know the rest?
But I am only a man.
CHARLES WASHINGTON COLEMAN. Virginia University Magazine.
~Her Little Glove.~
Her little glove, I dare aver,
Would set your pulses all astir;
It hides a something safe from sight
So soft and warm, so small and white,
A cynic would turn flatterer!
Could Pegasus have better spur?
'Twould almost cause a saint to err—
A Puritan to grow polite—
Her little glove.
'Twill satisfy a connoisseur,
This dainty thing of lavender;
And when it clasps her fingers tight
I think—I wonder if it's right—
That somehow—well—I wish I were
Her little glove.
FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. Wesleyan Verse.
~Skating Hath Charms.~
So cold was the night,
And her cheeks were cold, too,
Though it wasn't quite right,
So cold was the night,
And so sad was her plight,
That I—well, wouldn't you?
So cold was the night,
And her cheeks were cold, too.