And I—(Oh! I know I don't count, dear,
And for speaking acknowledge my guilt,
For my wishes to nothing amount, dear,)
I would rather you hadn't a "tilt."
For although thou wilt take us by storm, dear,
Looking sweet, as thou certainly wilt,
Yet, you know, it is very bad form, dear,
And not English to wish for a "tilt."
And I thought, (but of course was mistaken,
For my hopes lie around me all spilt),
That my Ethel would never awaken
To sigh for a Hielander's "tilt."
None the less will I try to be glad then,
Nor let courtesy play me the jilt;
Though I know that my heart will be sad when
Little Ethel is wearing her "tilt".
Dear little Ethel,
Child that I love,
Come, as an angel,
Down from above.
Golden-rayed tresses,
Shining and bright,
Inviting caresses,
Mirroring light.
Eyes blue and tender,
Beaming with joy.
Who would offend her?
Who would annoy?