"Love laughs at locksmiths," laughs ho! ho!
Still Thisbe steals to meet a beau,
Naught recks of bolt and bar and night,
And father's frown and word despite.
As in the days of long ago,
In southern heat and northern snow
Still twangs the archer's potent bow,
And as his flying arrows smite,
Love laughs.
Trinity Tablet.
~Where Cupid Dwells.~
Way over the seas, is a far, far land,
Where skies are blue and gold;
Where ripples break on a silver sand,
And sunbeams ne'er grow old;
There's a dale where Cupid dwells, they say,
And 'tis there that he rests from his frolic play.
Oh, there's many a lass and many a swain
That knows of his shafts made there;
For Cupid spares naught of a deep heart-pain.
Though love be all his care.
And I think he should make a reflection or two,
When he rests over there from his play. Don't you?
ROBERT L. MUNGER. Yale Courant.
~To Ruby Lips.~
Two ruby lips are hers; a pair
Of eyes a cynic to ensnare,
A tinted cheek, a perfect nose,
A throat as white as winter's snows,
And o'er her brow bright golden hair.
But, though she's everything that's fair,
My captured fancy's focused where
A saucy smile suffuses those
Two ruby lips.
Why longer wait their sweets to share?
We're safe behind the portière.
A moment, then, that no one knows—
Ah! now she's flown, couleur de rose,
With, one might hint (but who would dare?)
Too ruby lips.