When hearts are trumps | Page 4

for an hour of the city!?What are the dull waves to me??Can they say anything witty?
What do they care for my lips??Why did I come? It's a pity!?Nothing but water and ships,?And Jack far away in the city.
Oh for one ride in the park,?With Jack humming bars from a ditty;?Kissing me (when it grows dark).?Fy! Oh--heigho, for the city!
Jacks from Jack.
Fresh, fragrant, tempting, balmy, red--?What fool would send them back??Why do I wish that I were dead,?With all these jacks from Jack?
Why do I bite my lips and frown,?Tear buttons off my sacque,?When, just returning to the town,?I get these jacks from Jack?
Alas, for pleasure's giddy whirl,?For summer lost, alack!?He's off to see some other girl;?That's why mere jacks from Jack.
Hyacinths.
Hyacinths, tenderly sweet,?Is it life that you ask in your prayer??Ah, I would die at her feet,?If I could be one of you there.
There on her billowy breast,?So near to her innocent heart,?That its beating would lull me to rest,?And to dream I should never depart.
Sighing are you for the stars??Look in the depths of her eyes.?Is there a gem of the Czar's?So much like those gems of the skies?
Is it the dew that you miss??Hyacinths, hyacinths, wait.?Soon she will give you a kiss.?Oh, how I envy your fate!
In The Waltz.
AN ECHO FROM A SEASIDE HOP.
Light as the waves foaming white on the bar,?We dance to the mandolin, harp, and guitar;?One, two, three, waltzing we glide round the room,--?Would you were bride, and ah, would I were groom!
On all the seashore none fairer than you;?What but adore you could any one do??Cheeks like the pink of an evening sky,?Eyes that might bid a man laughingly die.
Ears like the shells from the Indian sea,?Teeth like white buds on a young apple-tree,?Throat like a lily bent heavy with dew,?Arms just as white and as lily-like too.
Lips that would tempt--ah! you'll pardon me now,?Being so near them suggests, you'll allow,?That the happiest thing e'er a mortal could do,?Would be to be ever thus waltzing with you.
She Is Mine.
There's a sparkle in her eye?That no millionnaire can buy.?If they think so, let them try--
She's divine.
There's a blush upon her cheek?Like the peach-tree's blossom, eke,?Like red willows by the creek,
Or like wine.
She has roses in her hair.?It was I who put them there.?Really, did I ever dare--
Is she mine?
Or is it all a dream,--?Idle poet's empty theme?Put in words that make it seem?Superfine?
No; for see upon her hand?There's a little golden band,--?Filigree work, understand,?Like a vine;
And a perfect solitaire?Fits upon it. The affair?Cost two hundred. I don't care!?She is mine.
Old Times.
Ah, good old times of belles and beaux,?Of powdered wigs and wondrous hose,?Of stately airs and careful grace,?Look you at our degenerate race.
No more the gallant spends his time?In writing of his love in rhyme;?No more he lives unconscious of?All earthly things save war and love.
We modern men have toils and cares?To streak our pates with whitened hairs,?And have to crowd our love and all?Into one short and weekly call.
Of My Love.
Was ever a moon?In joyous June?As royal, radiant, rare as she,
With her smiling lips,?As she lightly trips?Down through the autumn woods to me?
Never a queen?On her throne, I ween,?Had such a loyal slave as I.
Ready to bear?All her cares, I swear,?Just for a fleeting kiss on the sly.
Oh for the day?We gallop away?To the curate's cottage, Gretna Green;
Side by side,?Groom and bride,?Happy twenty and sweet sixteen!
The Farewell.
Not going abroad? What, to-morrow,?And to stay, goodness knows for how long??Really, Jack, 'twould appear that dry sorrow?Had done even you, sir, a wrong.
It has? Ha, ha, ha! What a joke, sir!?Is it Mabel or Jenny or Nell??I'm sure you are wrong,--hold my cloak, sir,--?Am I not an old friend? Come now, tell.
The prince of our set broken-hearted!?What a joke! Who rejected you? Speak!?Did you look like that, Jack, when you parted??Was that pallor of death on your cheek?
You interest me. Tell me about it;?And let your old chum, sir, console.?Hard hit in the heart. I don't doubt it;?You were made for that sort of a r?le.
Did you bend on your knee, like an actor,?Hardly knowing just where to begin??Was dear mamma's consent the main factor??What a fool the poor girl must have been!
Who was she? What!--I?--You were jealous??O, Jack, who'd have thought such a thing??You've been certainly not over-zealous.?But kiss me--and where is the ring?
The Last Dance.
AN INCIDENT IN A WINDOW SEAT.
He: Well, how many conquests? I fancy a score?By the flush on your cheeks and your shoulders.
She: A bore!
He: Oh, nonsense; a debutante just out of school?Who can rule with a smile what a king could not rule,?From young Harry, her prince, to myself, her poor fool! Come, tell me, did Harry propose?
She: What a goose?You would think me to tell you, and then of what use?Could it be?
He: Well, it might give me hope, where