No care would line my marble brow; I'd take no thought of pelf;
I'd lie the long day through at ease a-thinking of myself;
For when a man's mere presence lends to any scene delight
He needn't worry what he does—whate'er he does is right.
If I could bloom as blooms the rose, and Billing were a bee,
With all my pink and petalled force I'd coax him unto me;
I'd open out my honeyed store, and he might linger on,
Or cut and cut and come again until the whole were gone.
Such heaps of charm our Billing has, such tons of savoir faire,
It irks me much to see him spend his treasures on the air;