(After J. Ashby-Sterry.)
I know you, little winsome sweet,
You heroine of childish orgy;
What dance would ever be complete
Without our rosy, romping Georgy?
Straight as a dart, of which the sting
Lurks in a pair of pearl-gray eyes;
Slight, but the roundest lissome thing
As o’er the well-chalked floor she flies.
Nor can I say there is concealed