While waiting at that seaside spot
For him she loved;—divinely tall;
Her sloe-black eyes showed restless change,
Small sparks of anger you might catch,
And yet those eyes you could not match,
Were you throughout the world to range,
"Alas! I'm getting weary, weary—
Waiting here for Fred;
He said he'd take me sailing—query?
He's not come yet," she said.