I had an umbrella stout,
I lifted it, I flung it out,
In semicircle, with a shout,
At guardsman of the line!
Ah! me, for an unlucky wight!
Beneath the sick electric light,
She turned, O shock unto my sight!
She was no wife of mine!
He didn't draw, I wasn't slain,
But of that blow, he did complain,