And from my mouth the words nigh flew,— The past, the future, I forgat 'em,— "Oh, if you'd kiss me as you do That thankless atom!"
But this thought came ere yet I spake, And froze the sentence on my lips: "They err who marry wives that make Those little slips."
It came like some familiar rhyme, Some copy to my boyhood set; And that's perhaps the reason I'm Unmarried yet.
Would she have owned how pleased she was, And told her love with widow's pride? I never found out that, because I never tried.
Be kind to babes and beasts and birds, Hearts may be hard though lips are coral; And angry words are angry words: And that's the moral.
THE V-A-S-E.
From the maddening crowd they stand apart, The maidens four and the Work of Art;
And none might tell from sight alone In which had culture ripest grown,—
The Gotham Millions fair to see, The Philadelphia Pedigree,