If I would hint to her o' love, she'd hit that love a jar
An' laugh at sich a tough as me a-tryin' to rope a star;
She'd give them fluffy skirts a flirt, an' skate out o' my sight,
An' leave me paralyzed,—an' it'd serve me cussed right.
I wish she'd pack her pile o' trunks an' hit the city track,
[p. 79] An' maybe I'd recover from this violent attack;
An' in the future know enough to watch my feedin' ground
An' shun the loco weed o' love when there's an angel round.
James Barton Adams.
THE CHASE
HERE'S a moccasin track in the drifts,
It's no more than the length of my hand;
An' her instep,— just see how it lifts!
If that ain't the best in the land!
For the maid ran as free as the wind
And her foot was as light as the snow.
Why, as sure as I follow, I'll find
Me a kiss where her red blushes grow.
Here's two small little feet and a skirt;
Here's a soft little heart all aglow.
See me trail down the dear little flirt
By the sign that she left in the snow!
Did she run? 'Twas a sign to make haste.
An' why bless her! I'm sure she won't mind.
If she's got any kisses to waste,
Why, she knew that a man was behind.
Did she run 'cause she's only afraid?
No! For sure 'twas to set me the pace!
An' I'll follow in love with a maid
When I ain't had a sight of her face.
There she is! An' I knew she was near.
Will she pay me a kiss to be free?
Will she hate? Will she love? Will she fear?
Why, the darling! She's waiting to see!
Pocock in "Curley."