Just say to Harry a kind word, and tell him not to fret;
Perhaps I was cross, but then he knows it was so very wet;
Had it been fine—I cannot tell—he might have had my arm;
But the bad weather ruined all, and spoilt my toilet's charm.
I'll wear the dress again, mother; I do not care a pin,—
Or, perhaps, 'twill do for Effie, but it must be taken in;
But do not let her see it yet—she's not so very green,
And will not take it until washed and ironed it has been.
So, if you're waking, call me, when the day begins to dawn;
I dread to look at my barege—it must be so forlorn;