For I have not tried to find her
Since you sent your love by me;
Day by day I think I'm blinder,—
Fruitless search, as you might see.
I wonder, if in sending,
If you choose your slave by chance,
What that twinkle was portending
In your glance?
Tell me, when I bear the treasure,
Would you very angry be
Should I keep a trifling measure
That was hardly meant for me?
For it's common in commissions
Some percentage of the whole
To extract from you patricians.
Just for toll.
JOHN BARKER. Williams Literary Monthly.
~Chansonette.~
Dimpled cheeks and scarlet lips,
Pink and dainty finger-tips,
Glowing blushes, fragrant sighs,
Looks dove-sweet from starry eyes,
These do show this saying true—
Maidens all were meant to woo!
Guerdon dear shall be his meed
Who will be Love's thrall in deed:
Strollings 'neath a mellow moon,
Whispers soft as rain in June,
Kisses, maybe, one or two—
Maidens all were meant to woo!
WILL L. GRAVES. Makio.
~Triolet.~
He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe!
Of course I said it wasn't fair
To take advantage of me so,
And kiss me 'neath the mistletoe,—
But then, 'twas only Jack, you know,
And so I really didn't care!
He kissed me 'neath the mistletoe,
Although I said ft wasn't fair!