200 MY PARTNER. I give a shrug, as if to say, 'Twas purely an affair of chance; He coughs in quite a quiet way— But, oh, the lightning of his glance! Perchance I play a lively king, When swiftly on the monarch's face (Before I dream of such a thing) My bold opponent puts an ace. And mournfully observes, "Ahem!" At length I gradually lose All sense of what we are about; I know it's utterly absurd, And frankly feel we cannot win; But kicks me hard upon the shin. MY PARTNER. What matters that? One little graze Will only last a week or so; Of poulticing to undergo? My partner swears he 'll never play 201 NOT A MATCH. HENRY S. LEIGH. ITTY, sweet and seventeen, Pulls my hair and calls me "Harry;" Hints that I am young Wonders if I wish to marry. Only tell me what reply Is the best reply for Kitty? She's but seventeen-and I— I am forty-more 's the pity. and green, Twice at least my Kitty's age I am sober, I am sage; Kitty nothing but a baby. NOT A MATCH. She is merriment and mirth, I am wise and gravely witty; She's the dearest thing on earth, I am forty-more's the pity. She adores my pretty rhymes, Calls me "poet" when I write them; And she listens oftentimes Half an hour when I recite them. Let me scribble by the page Sonnet, ode, or lover's ditty; Seventeen is Kitty's age I am forty-more's the pity. 203 TO MY GRANDMOTHER. [Suggested by a Picture by Mr Romney.] FREDERICK LOCKER HIS relative of mine Was she seventy-and-nine When she died? By the canvas may be seen How she looked at seventeen As a bride. Beneath a summer tree Her maiden reverie Has a charm; Her ringlets are in taste What an arm! and what a waist For an arm! |