A Mournful Ditty.
TELL me not that I am pretty—
Really don't, now, Mr. Green;
I'm the last to think it's witty
Not to name things as they seem.
Yes; I know my hair is curly,
Blacker than the blackest sloe;
And I know that you'll be surly
With the candour I thus show.
That my eyes with fire are glancing