I threw my arms around the seat Where,été just in front, she sideways sat, Her melting eyes and face to meet— (And no one wondered much at that), For soon the station where she left Would on the sorrowing vision rise, And I at least should feel bereft; I thought a tear stood in her eyes.
She was but kith, not kin of mine; Ten years had passed since last we met, And when in going she did incline Her face ’twas natural to forget, It seemed so like a child I knew— I met her half way by mistake; And coming near those eyes of blue, She gently kissed me—by mistake!
She saw her error, and straightway ran With flaming blushes, rosy red; I should not be one-half a man If thoughts of wrong came in my head; In fact, I’d take that very train And travel daily for her sake, If she would only come again And gently kiss me—by mistake! _Joel Benton._
FIVE little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One: Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six: Sitting down to lessons—no more time for tricks.
Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven: Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen: Each young man that calls, I say “Now tell me which you _mean_!”
Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one: But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
Five showy girls—but Thirty is an age When girls may be engaging, but they somehow don’t engage.
Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more: So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
Five _passé_ girls—Their age? Well, never mind! We jog along together, like the rest of human kind: But the quondam “careless bachelor” begins to think he knows The answer to that ancient problem “how the money goes!” _Lewis Carroll._
(_Sent to a friend who complained that I was glad enough to see him when he came, but didn’t seem to miss him if he stayed away._)
AND cannot pleasures, while they last, Be actual unless, when past, They leave us shuddering and aghast, With anguish smarting? And cannot friends be firm and fast, And yet bear parting?
And must I then, at Friendship’s call, Calmly resign the little all (Trifling, I grant, it is and small) I have of gladness, And lend my being to the thrall Of gloom and sadness?