And then for your cheek!
Throth, ’twould take him a week
Its beauties to tell as he’d rather.
Then your lips! oh, Machree!
In their beautiful glow
They a patthern might be
For the cherries to grow.
’Twas an apple that tempted our mother, we know—
For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago;
But at this time o’ day,