When hearts are trumps | Page 6

fast, and my lips touch your cheek, And I'm
crying, "Love, answer me; speak to me--speak!"
And the answer you give to my longing distress
Is that word, with a
blush and a kiss, that word "Yes."
Ah, my arms hold you fast, and I burn with a fire
That nothing but
long-waiting love can inspire.
Yet I know you mean nothing--mean nothing, because
It's mere
acting. Ah me, I can hear the applause.
An Apache Love-Song.[1]

A-atana she was here.
A-atana I was dear.
She will never come
again.
Chill my heart, O wind and rain.
A-atana she was here.
Hark, the wind asks "Hi-you?"
And I answer "A-coo,
Ustey with
your bitter cold;
U-ga-sha, my love of old."
Still the wind asks
"Hi-you?"
"Hi-you?" I know not where.
A-oo, I hardly care.
Take it to the land
of snow;
Take it where the stars all go.
"Hi-you?" I do not care.
It-sau-i did it all--
It-sau-i, proud and tall.
Tell her I have gone to
fight.
Ask her if her heart is light.
It-sau-i did it all.
[Footnote 1: A-atana_, yesterday. _Hi-you_, where. _A-coo, here.
U's-tey_, come, or bring. _U'-ga-sha_, go, or take. _A-oo, yes. I have
no authority for the spelling of these words. I rendered them
phonetically from the pronunciation of a young Apache whom I hired
to teach me the language. Many Apache words have no perceptible
accent. A, here, has the sound of a in father.]
The Old-fashioned Girl.
There's an old-fashioned girl in an old fashioned street, Dressed in
old-fashioned clothes from her head to her feet; And she spends all her
time in the old-fashioned way
Of caring for poor people's children all
day.
She never has been to cotillon or ball,
And she knows not the styles
of the Spring or the Fall; Two hundred a year will suffice for her needs,

And an old-fashioned Bible is all that she reads.
And she has an old-fashioned heart that is true
To a fellow who died
in an old coat of blue,
With its buttons all brass,--who is waiting
above
For the woman who loved him with old-fashioned love.
A Retrospect.

I was poor as a beggar,--she knew it,--
But proud as a king through it
all;
Though it cost me two dollars to do it,
I took little Meg to the
ball.
Mere calico served her for satin;
My broadcloth was made of blue
jeans.
Without crest or a motto in Latin,
Meg's style was as grand as
a queen's.
And we were in dreamland all through it,
And I do not regret it at all;

Though it cost me two dollars to do it,
I took little Meg to the ball.
Hard Hit.
I guess that I'm done for, old chappie!
Done, whether she loves me or
not,--
But don't look so deuced unhappy,--
Y'know it was I fired the
shot.
Thanks, awfully. Give me the whiskey,--
There's a horrible pain in
my head;
It's queer that my nerves should be frisky
When my heart
is as heavy as lead.
I'm worthless; I own it! She told me,
That night at the Country Club
ball,--
Don't try, dear old fellow, to hold me,--
Ah, Nellie!--it's
over!--don't call!
She told me my life had been wasted,
That my money had ruined my
mind,
That I'd not left a pleasure untasted,--
Had been a disgrace to
mankind!
And now she's to marry another,--
A poor man, but honest and strong,

Who had never a passion to smother,
And never a chance to do
wrong.
He loves her. They'll all think it funny
I don't curse him and kill him,
old fel;
But she loves him. I've left him my money,--
For I love
her--God bless her! Farewell!

Rejected.
Aw, yes, bah Jove. I thought you'd answer "No."
But still a fellah 's
got to awsk, you see.
And then there was the chance you might
outgrow
That way you had of making fun of me.
Three years in Europe sometimes make a change
In girls like you,
who've always been adored;
And when you laughed, I thought it
rawther strange.
Aw, I beg pawdon; p'haps you feel, aw--bored.
You don't? You think it fun--a fellah's pains
At words like yours?
You don't know how they smart.
I know you think I haven't any
brains;
But still, Miss Nellie, I've a--I've a heart.
Jokers
Her Yachting Cap.
Oh, the little yachting cap
That is lying in her lap
Has a sort of
fascination for poor me.
It is made of something white,
And she
wears it day and night,
Through the weeks she spends each summer
by the sea.
She can make of it a fan,
And, when necessary, can
Hide her face
behind it, if she chance to blush.
It has carried caramels,
Chocolate
drops, and pretty shells,
And I've even seen her use it as a brush.
But still it has one fault
In my eyes. I'd better halt,
Had I not, and ponder well what I shall
say?
She is darting warning glances.
Well, under certain circumstances,

The visor's always getting in my way.
Theft.

The moonlight steals around the pine;
Star-eyes steal radiance from
thine.
Low music steals upon the ear;
Can there be theft when thou art near?