~The Widow's Mite.~
She was a widow stern and spry,
And brimming with lots of fight;
She married a little man five feet high,
And he died from the widow's might.
Columbia Spectator.
~Lines to Her.~
There are other fellows nearer,—
And some of them are dearer,—
Of those sad thoughts my heart has
not
a
doubt.
But I want to get in line
With my little Valentine,
So's not to let those fellows
cut
me
out.
CHARLES FLOYD McCLURE. Wisconsin Aegis.
~A Sensible Serenade.~
I sing beneath your lattice, love,
A serenade in praise of you;
The moon is getting rather high,
My voice is, too, my voice is, too.
The lakelet in deep shadow lies,
Where frogs make much hullabaloo,
I think they sing a trifle hoarse,
And I do, too, and I do, too.