With my silver-topped cane, and my boots (patent leather),
My hat polished smoothly, a gloss on my hair,
Yes, I think I shall charm her, and as to the weather,
I am safe—the barometer points to "Set Fair."
So I'm off—why, what's that? Yes, by Jove, there's a sputter
Of rain on the pavement!—the sunshine retires;
And I wish, oh, I wish that my tongue dared to utter
The thoughts that this changeable weather inspires.
Back, back to my rooms; I am drenched and disgusted;
In thick boots and an ulster I'll tempt it again;