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diff --git a/old/11711.txt b/old/11711.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d95e91b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11711.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2792 @@ +Project Gutenberg's When hearts are trumps, by Thomas Winthrop Hall + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: When hearts are trumps + +Author: Thomas Winthrop Hall + +Release Date: March 25, 2004 [EBook #11711] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN HEARTS ARE TRUMPS *** + + + + +Produced by papeters, Garrett Alley, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + +When Hearts are Trumps + +By + +Tom Hall + +[Illustration] + + +_New York_ +Frederick A. Stokes +Company +Publishers + + + + +Frederick H. Stokes +Company + +Sixth Edition +September 1898 + + + + +_The verses in this volume have been selected from work that has +appeared in various periodicals during the past five years. Especially +to the editors of_ LIFE, TRUTH, TOWN TOPICS, VOGUE, _and_ MUNSEY'S +MAGAZINE _I have to offer my thanks for their permission to republish +the majority of them_. + +_T.H._ + +NEW YORK, February 1, 1894. + + + + +Contents. + +KINGS & QUEENS & BOWERS + + THE PERFECT FACE + THE MOONLIGHT SONATA + THE KISS + THE BRIDE + A PROBLEM + TO PHYLLIS READING A LETTER + A ROSE FROM HER HAIR + WHEN I TOLD HER MY LOVE + MY LADY, YOU BLUSHED + THE AMERICAN SLAVE + SELL HER,--THAT'S RIGHT + TIME AND PLACE + BLOOD ON THE ROSE + IN OLD MADRID + THE DUEL + THE SHROUD + LOVE'S RETURN + ONE WISH + FOR ME + TO A WATER-COLOR + THE SERENADE + TO THE ROSE IN HER HAIR + HER REVERIE + TO BEAUTY + DREAMING OF YOU + PLEASE RETURN + ALMOST DYING OF ENNUI + JACKS FROM JACK + HYACINTHS + IN THE WALTZ + SHE IS MINE + OLD TIMES + OF MY LOVE + THE FAREWELL + THE LAST DANCE + WHY HE ASKED FOR A VACATION + THE EDITOR'S VALENTINE + ACTING + AN APACHE LOVE-SONG + THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL + A RETROSPECT + HARD HIT + REJECTED + +JOKERS + + HER YACHTING CAP + THEFT + BEFORE HER MIRROR + AT OLD POINT COMFORT + A DROP TOO MUCH + INGRATITUDE + A FEW RESOLUTIONS + A DILEMMA + A CHOICE NOT NECESSARY + THAT BOSTON GIRL + THE HERO + THE SWEET SUMMER GIRL + HER FAN + CERTAINTY + CAUGHT + AN IMPORTANT DISTINCTION + TWO KINDS + WHAT IT IS + IN HER PEW + THE SUSPICIOUS LOVER TO THE STAR + A SLIGHT SURPRISE + PAST _vs_. PRESENT + THE USUAL WAY + A DIFFERENCE IN STYLE + AFRAID + YE RETORT EXASPERATING + A RHYMING REVERIE + A SURE WINNER + TANTALIZATION + HIS USUAL FATE + ON TWO LETTERS FROM HER + A SERENADE--EN DEUX LANGUES + WHEN A GIRL SAYS "NO" + UNCERTAINTY + HER PECULIARITIES + TYING THE STRINGS OF HER SHOE + WHEN YOU ARE REJECTED + A BACHELOR'S VIEWS + MY CIGARETTE + DISCOVERED + THE ICE IN THE PUNCH + THE TALE OF A BROKEN HEART + WHERE DID YOU GET IT? + NO + A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S TEMPEST + THE ABUSED GALLANT + AFTER THE BALL + VANITY FAIR + FOR THE LONG VOYAGE + + + + Kings + & + Queens + & + Bowers + + + +The Perfect Face. + + The Graces, on a summer day, + Grew serious for a moment; yea, + They thought in rivalry to trace + The outline of a perfect face. + + Each used a rosebud for a brush, + And, while it glowed with sunset's blush, + Each painted on the evening sky, + And each a star used for the eye. + + They finished. Each a curtaining cloud + Drew back, and each exclaimed aloud: + "Behold, we three have drawn the same, + From the same model!" Ah, her name? + + I know. I saw the pictures grow. + I saw them falter, fade, and go. + I know the model. Oft she lures + My heart. The face, my sweet, was yours. + + + + +The Moonlight Sonata. + + The notes still float upon the air, + Just as they did that night. + I see the old piano there,-- + Oh, that again I might! + + Her young voice haunts my eager ear; + Her hair in the candle-light + Still seems an aureole,--a tear + Is my spectroscope to-night. + + I hear her trembling tell me "No," + And I know that she answered right + But I throw a kiss to the stars, and though + She be wed she will dream to-night. + + + + +The Kiss + + Over the green fields, over the snow, + Something I send thee, something I throw. + No one can guess it; no one can know. + + Light as a feather, quick as the eye; + Thin as a sunbeam, deep as the sky; + Worthless, but something a queen could not buy. + + Ah, you have caught it, love! How do I know? + Sweet, there are secrets lost ages ago. + Lovers learn all of them. Smile not,--'tis so. + + + + +The Bride. + + Before her mirror, robed in spotless white, + She stands and, wondering, looks at her own face, + Amazed at its new loveliness and grace. + Smiling and blushing at the pretty sight, + So fraught is she with innocent delight, + She feels the tender thrill of his embrace + Crushing her lilies into flowery lace; + Then sighs and starts, even as though from fright. + + Then fleets before her eyes the happy past; + She turns from it with petulant disdain, + And tries to read the future,--but in vain. + Blank are its pages from the first to last. + She hears faint music, smiles, and leaves the room + Just as one rosebud more bursts into bloom. + + + + +A Problem. + + Give you a problem for your midnight toil,-- + One you can study till your hair is white + And never solve and never guess aright, + Although you burn to dregs your midnight oil? + O Sage, I give one that will make you moil. + Just take one weakling little woman's heart. + Prepare your patience, furbish up your art. + How now? Did I not see you then recoil? + + Tell me how many times it has known pain; + Tell me what thing will make it feel delight; + Tell me when it is modest, when 'tis vain; + Tell me when it is wrong and when 'tis right: + But tell me this, all other things above,-- + Can it feel, Sage, the thing that man calls "Love"? + + + + +To Phyllis Reading a Letter. + + A smile is curving o'er her creamy cheek, + Her bosom swells with all a lover's joy, + When love receives a message that the coy + Young love-god made a strong and true heart speak + From far-off lands; and like a mountain-peak + That loses in one avalanche its cloy + Of ice and snow, so doth her breast employ + Its hidden store of blushes; and they wreak + Destruction, as they crush my aching heart,-- + Destruction, wild, relentless, and as sure + As the poor Alpine hamlet's; and no art + Can hide my agony, no herb can cure + My wound. Her very blush says, "We must part." + Why was it always my fate to endure? + + + + +A Rose from her hair. + + She gave me a rose from her hair, + And she hid her young heart within it. + I could hardly speak from despair, + Till she gave that rose from her hair, + And leaned out over the stair + With a blush as she stooped to pin it. + She gave me a rose from her hair, + And she hid her young heart within it. + + + + +When I told her my Love. + + When I told her my love, + She was maidenly shy, + And she bit at her glove. + + I gave Cupid a shove; + Yes, I begged him to try, + When I told her my love + + What was she thinking of + As she uttered that sigh + And she bit at her glove? + + And pray what does it prove + That she stopped there to sigh, + When I told her my love + And she bit at her glove? + + + + +My Lady, you Blushed. + + My lady, you blushed. + Was my love a surprise? + How quickly they hushed! + + A curl of yours brushed + All else from my eyes. + My lady, you blushed. + + You say that I gushed, + And they all heard my sighs? + How quickly they hushed! + + Your roses were crushed; + _N'importe_ wherefores and whys. + My lady, you blushed. + + + + +The American Slave. + + Come, muster your pleasantest smile, my dear, + And put on your prettiest gown. + Forget about Jack for a while, my dear, + His lordship has just come to town. + + He's come here to get him a wife, my dear, + And you have been put up for sale + With a marvellous income for life, my dear, + To balance your side of the scale. + + His lordship is feeble and old, my dear,-- + What odds? All the sooner he'll die. + And he has a sore need of your gold, my dear: + See the good you can do if you'll try. + + And then a real lady you'll be, my dear, + Not only by nature but name; + Mamma'll be so proud,--you can see, my dear, + No one thinks it, as you do, a shame. + + So bend your proud head. Are you faint, my dear? + Keep the tears back, be buoyant and brave. + Keep that pose! Now a portrait we'll paint, my dear, + To be called "The American Slave." + + + + +Sell Her,--That's Right. + + Sell her,--that's right! She is young, she is fair; + There's the light of the sun in the coils of her hair. + And her soul is as white as the first flakes of snow + That are falling to-night. 'T is a bargain, a "go" + Sell her,--that's right! + + Sell her,--that's right! For a bag full of gold. + Put her down in your ledger, and label her "Sold" + She's only a beauty with somebody's name, + And the Church for a pittance will wash out the shame. + Sell her,--that's right! + + + + +Time and Place. + + Hasten on! The mad moonlight is beaming + On the hatred and love 'twixt us two; + And it beams on the maid who is dreaming, + And the grave made for me or for you. + + Time and place,--love and life in the balance, + Fear and hope in the glance of your eye. + Draw your blade! Forget not we are gallants + Who can laugh at our fate as we die. + + On your guard! There'll be blood on the metal + Ere she wakes from her innocent dreams; + There's a long list of kisses to settle, + And some love sighs and death sighs, it seems. + Bare your arm! Strike for life and the maiden! + Take that! You are cautious, I fear + Speed the blow,--'tis with happiness laden + For him who does not remain here + + That and that! I am wounded,--it's over + Those kisses were destined for you; + But now she is yours and you love her, + Go tell her that I loved her too + + + + +Blood on the Rose. + + Is it dew on the rose? + 'T is the same that I gave him + Last night when I chose + To warn him and save him; + + That he pinned on his breast + With a smile at his danger, + And a smile, not in jest, + That was sweeter and stranger + + Here are footprints of foes! + Oh, my heart!--I can feel + It is blood on the rose + And a sliver of steel. + + + + +In Old Madrid. + + I strolled the streets in quest of any love, + In old Madrid long centuries ago; + I caught the perfume of a scented glove, + I saw a sweet face in a portico. + + She laughed--then paled. She leaned out; whispered, "Fly!" + And then I felt the sting of steel, the hiss + Of curses in my ear, and knew that I + Had forfeited my life--and lost a kiss. + + + + +The Duel. + + Ten paces--one, two, three, and fire! + Two gallants have their heart's desire. + + One of them dies, the other laughs; + The seconds smile, the doctor chaffs. + + A woman, smiling, dreams she's wed + To--hush, to the very one that's dead. + + + + +The Shroud. + + The snow came softly, silently, down + Into the streets of the dark old town; + And lo! by the wind it was swept and piled + On the sleeping form of a beggar-child. + + It kissed her cheek, and it filled her hair + With crystals that looked like diamonds there; + And she dreamed that she was a fair young bride + In a pure white dress by her husband's side. + + A blush crept over her pale young face, + And her thin lips smiled with a girlish grace; + But the old storm-king made his boast aloud + That his work that night was weaving a shroud. + + + + +Love's Return. + + Love has come back--ah me, the joy!-- + Greater than when Love began + To wound my heart. The jocund boy! + Love has come back a gray-haired man. + + His eyes are red with tears of woe, + His cheeks are pale, and his heart is sore; + But Love has come back at last, and, oh! + Love will be faithful evermore. + + + + +One Wish. + + My thoughts are gliding down the stream, + Ah, faster than the river flows; + And idly in my heart I dream + Of islands where the lotus grows. + + I fear not rapids, waterfall, + Or whirlpool leading down to death, + If love but my tired heart enthrall, + And I may sip a woman's breath. + + I care not what may be my fate. + Roll on, mad river, to the sea; + Drown all ambition, pride, and hate,-- + But leave one woman's love to me. + + + + +For Me. + + I heard her song, + Low in the night, + From out her casement steal away, + Nor thought it wrong + To steal a sight + Of her--and lo! she knelt to pray. + + I heard her say, + "Forgive him, Lord; + Such as he seems he cannot be." + I turned away, + Myself abhorred. + She prayed--and oh! she prayed for me. + + + + +To a Water-color. + + Sweet Phyllis, maid of yesterday, + Come down from out that frame, + And tell me why you looked so gay-- + Likewise your other name. + + Had bold Sir Plume confessed his love + And asked you if you'd wed? + And had he called you "Lovey-dove"? + And how long are you dead? + + Where did you get that wondrous gown, + Those patches, and that hair? + And how were things in London town + The last time you were there? + + And did you die a maid or wife, + Your husband lord or knave? + And how did you like this jolly life? + And how do you like the grave? + + + + +The Serenade. + + Under my casement, as I pray, + My lover sings my cares away + With many a half-forgotten lay. + + He leans against the linden-tree, + And sings old songs of Arcady + That he knows well are loved by me. + + Half through the night the sweet strains float + Like wind-blown rose-leaves, note by note, + Over the great wall and the moat, + + Up to my window, till they teem + Into my soul, and almost seem + To be there even when I dream. + + And his heart trembling beats with bliss + If I but throw him one small kiss + Just as I now throw this, and this + + + + +To the Rose in her hair. + + Poor little rose, I pity you-- + Sweet as Oporto's wind when fruity-- + Tortured an evil hour or two, + Just to adorn a wilful beauty. + + I know her well, too well, alas! + (Just watch the fairy as she dances.) + She wears my heart--but let that pass; + It's dead: she killed it with her glances. + + Your fate, poor rose, is such as mine,-- + To be despised when you are faded; + Yet she's an angel--too divine + To be by you or me upbraided. + + + + +Her Reverie. + + A lady combed her silken hair. + None but a looking-glass would dare + To gaze on such a scene. + The blushes thronged her dimpled cheek; + They coursed upon her shoulders, eke, + And the white neck between. + + And she was thinking then, I trow, + Of one who, in a whispered vow + Beneath the budding elm, + Had told her they would sail their barque + On lakes where pale stars pierced the dark, + With Cupid at the helm. + + Anon, a faint smile pursed her lips + And shook her dainty finger-tips, + As breezes shake the boughs; + And then a quick, impetuous frown + Came gathering from her ringlets down, + And perched upon her brows. + + Ah, she was thinking then, I ween, + Of me, poor clumsy dunce, who e'en + Had torn her silken dress. + I waltzed too near her at the ball; + Her beauty dazed me--that was all; + I felt a dizziness. + + + + +To Beauty. + + "Oh, Mistress Beauty," said my sigh, + "I'd laugh to scorn all other blisses, + If you and I might live and die + Together on such fare as kisses. + + "Your kirtle would not be of silk, + The band around it but torn leather. + I think our wine would be plain milk; + I think we'd oft see stormy weather. + + "But, oh, there are some things in life + Worth more to men than fame or money; + And one of them's a sweet young wife, + So pure, so honest, and so bonnie." + + + + +Dreaming of You. + + My soul feels refreshed, like a rose kissed by dew, + When waking I know I've been dreaming of you. + + They thought I was mad. Ah, my sweet, if they knew + That my malady simply was dreaming of you! + + I've one wish. 'Tis to sleep all the long ages through + By your side, you my bride, and I dreaming of you. + + + + +Please Return. + + Now, all you pretty maids in town, + Take heed of my sad plight. + I've lost a kiss; I'll give a crown + To get it back to-night. + + I threw it, poet-like, I own, + Up to a silvery star; + I must confess I might have known + I could not throw so far. + + But, oh, surprise! It circled round, + And sank as though 't were laden + With love--when almost to the ground + 'T was caught by some young maiden. + + And that young maid I wish to find. + I've lost a kiss, alack! + It is not hers. She'll not be kind + Unless she give it back. + + + + +Almost Dying of Ennui. + + What are the charms of the sea? + Oh 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 role. + + 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 before + There was none,--quite a boon from the lips you adore + When you 're hungry for love. + + _She (coquetting)_: Or who knows but it might-- + + _He_: Yes, it might blot from life every semblance of light + As the clouds blot the moon on a storm-troubled night. + But tell me. + + _She_: He did. + + _He_: And your answer was? + + _She_: No. + + _He_: You mean it, or are you coquetting yet? + + _She_: Oh! + I just told him I cared for another--he smiled. + It was merely to him so much pleasure beguiled + From a girl. Charge it up profit?--loss?--tell me which? + He thinks I am pretty, they say, but, not rich. + He would love me, perhaps, for a season or two, + So I told him that I loved another. + + _He_: And who? + + _She (archly)_: Really, must I tell _you?_ + + _He_: No--your finger--yes, this! + A solitaire--done! and now quickly! + + _She (feigning reluctance)_: One! + + _He (ecstatically)_: Kiss. + + + + +Why he asked for a Vacation. + + "Dear Jack: + It's delightfully gay here,-- + Old Paris seemed never so fine,-- + And mamma says we're going to stay here, + And papa--well, papa sips his wine + And says nothing. You know him of old, dear. + He's only too happy to rest,-- + After making three millions in gold, dear. + He's played out, it must be confessed,-- + And I--I'm to wed an old Baron + Three weeks from to-day, in great style + (He's as homely and gaunt as old Charon, + And they say that his past has been vile); + And I've promised to cut you hereafter,-- + Small chance, though, we ever shall meet,-- + So let's turn our old love into laughter, + And face the thing through. Shall we, sweet? + Can you give me up, Jack, to this _roue_, + Just because we may always be poor? + There's still enough time, dear, _et tu es_ + _Un brave_,--you will come, I am sure. + Put your trunk on the swiftest Cunarder, + And don't give me up, Jack, for--well, + There are things in this world that are harder + Than poverty. Come to me! + + NELL." + + + + +The Editor's Valentine. + + The editor sat in his old arm-chair + (Half his work undone he was well aware), + While the flickering light in the dingy room + Made the usual newspaper office gloom. + + Before him news from the North and South, + A long account of a foreign drouth, + A lot of changes in local ads, + The report of a fight between drunken cads, + + And odds and ends and smoke and talk,-- + A reporter drawing cartoons in chalk + On the dirty wall, while others laughed, + And one wretch whistled, and all of them chaffed. + + But the editor leaned far back in his chair; + He ran his hands through his iron-gray hair, + And stole ten minutes from work to write + A valentine to his wife that night. + + He thought of metre, he thought of rhyme. + 'Twas a race between weary brains and time. + He tried to write as he used to when + His heart was as young as his untried pen. + + He started a sonnet, but gave it up. + A rondeau failed for a rhyme to "cup." + And the old clock ticked his time away, + For the editor's mind would go astray. + + He thought of the days when they were young, + And all but love to the winds was flung, + He thought of the way she used to wear + Her wayward tresses of golden hair. + + He thought of the way she used to blush. + He thought of the way he used to gush. + And a smile and a tear went creeping down + The face that so long had known a frown. + + And this is what the editor wrote: + No poem--merely a little note, + Simple and manly, but tender, too; + Three little words--they were, "I love you." + + + + +Acting. + + Ah, my arms hold you fast! How can they be so bold + When my hands offer nothing of silver or gold? + + Can it be that I see a new light in your eye? + Can it be that I heard then a womanly sigh? + + Ah, I feel such delight, and such joy, such surprise, + That I hardly dare lift my own sight to your eyes + + Ah, my arms hold you 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? + + I steel my heart for fear of this,-- + I steel my heart and steal a kiss. + + I'd steal the sacramental wine + If it were sweet as kiss of thine! + + + + +Before her Mirror. + + I pause before her mirror and reflect + (That's what the mirror does, I take it, too); + Reflect how little it has known neglect, + And think, "O mirror, would that I were you." + + She has no secrets that you do not know, + You and yon crescent box of poudre de rose. + And even these long curling irons can show + Much evidence of use, yet naught disclose. + + Here, when she smiles, _you_ know it is her teeth + She's putting to the test ere she depart + For the gay revel on the lawn beneath, + Or moonlight ramble that may break a heart. + + Here she may blush, until she, red as wine, + Knows that her triumphs have not ceased to be. + Here, when she frowns, and looks still more divine, + You know, wise mirror, that she thinks of me. + + + + +At Old Point Comfort. + + You don't think of dresses, or ducats, or dukes; + You don't care for chaperone's rigid rebukes; + It's just simply grand, + To lie there on the sand, + Down at the beach,-- + If a man's within reach. + + Some like the moonlight and some like the sun, + Some flirt in earnest and some flirt in fun; + It's worth all the rash, + Reckless spending of cash, + All the dresses you spoil, + All the tempers you roil, + Down at the beach,-- + If a man's within reach. + + It's better than sleigh-rides, cotillons, or teas, + It makes the dull Patriarch's knickerbocked knees + Shake in the dance, + And then one has a chance, + If one's pretty and smart, + With a tongue not too tart, + Of presenting papaw + With a new son-in-law, + Down at the beach,-- + If a man's within reach. + + + + +A Drop Too Much. + + I praised her hair, I praised her lips, + She looked up with surprise; + I bowed to kiss her finger-tips, + And then she dropped her eyes. + + I said love ruled the world; that I + Adored her; called her "Nan." + She merely looked a little shy, + And then she dropped her fan. + + I took the hint, and at her feet + I knelt--yes, quite absurd; + But oh, my fond heart wildly beat + To hear her drop a word. + + I told her all: my talents few, + My direful lack of pelf. + (We all have erred.) She said "Adieu," + And then dropped me myself. + + + + +Ingratitude. + + Last night young Cupid lost his way, + And came to me to find it. + He'd been a truant all the day, + But didn't seem to mind it. + + I put him in a hansom then + For home, and feed the cabby; + But my reward was what most men + Would call extremely shabby. + + He got his bow and arrows out, + And pierced my heart, nor tarried, + But drove away ere I could shout, + "Great Heavens, Cupe, I'm married!" + + + + +A Few Resolutions. + +(_With Reservations_) + + He shall never know that I love him-- + Until he asks if I do. + And I'll feel very much above him-- + When he stoops to tie my shoe. + + And I shall never kiss him-- + Until he kisses me. + And I shall never miss him-- + Till he sails over the sea. + + And I shall never wed him, + Nor call myself his bride-- + Till Cupid and I have led him + Right up to the minister's side. + + + + +A Dilemma. + + A letter for me, + From the girl that I love! + Just penned by her hand + And caressed by her glove. + A jewel--a gem--ah! + A letter from Emma. + + A letter for me, + Oh, what joy, what surprise! + Just kissed by her lips-- + At least, blest by her eyes. + 'T is opened--ahem, ah! + A letter from Emma. + + A letter for me, + From my sweet little bird. + Eight pages, by Jove! + And I can't read a word. + A precious dilemma, + This letter from Emma! + + + + +A Choice not Necessary. + + Here is a rose, + Here is a kiss; + Which do you choose? + One rhymes with prose; + One rhymes with bliss. + Ah, you amuse. + + You hesitate, + You blush, you sigh. + What! are you loath? + 'Tis getting late; + Be quick-- + Fool, take them both! + + + + +That Boston Girl. + + Her voice is sweet, + Her style is neat; + She'd move the world with but a pen. + Her mind is clear; + Her sight, though near, + Is long enough to capture men. + What matters it her learning, then? + + + + +The Hero. + + He looked so handsome, proud, and brave, + As he stood there, straight and tall, + With his steadfast eyes, so gray, so grave, + The beau of the Hunt Club ball. + + Ah me, full many a white breast sighed + For the favor of his hand,-- + For the love of a heart so true, so tried, + For life, you understand. + + He looked a hero; he was more, + A martyr, too, perchance; + For he went to the oldest girl on the floor, + And led her out to dance. + + + + +The Sweet Summer Girl. + + She has hair that is fluffy, straight, banged, or half curled; + Has a parasol, oft by her deft fingers twirled. + She has eyes either brown or black, gray or true blue; + Has a neat fitting glove and a still neater shoe. + + She has cheeks that make bitter the envious rose; + She has trunks upon trunks of the costliest clothes; + She has jewels that shine as the stars do at night; + And she dances as Ariel dances--or might. + + She knows nothing much, but she's great on the smile; + Her profession is love, and she flirts all the while; + She's accustomed to sitting on rocks in the glen; + She is also accustomed to sitting on men. + + + + +Her Fan. + + A dainty thing of silk and lace, + Of feathers, and of paint, + Held often to her laughing face + When I assume the saint. + + Too dainty far to mix with these + Old pipes, cigars, and books + Of bachelordom,--rare life of ease,-- + Rare friends, rare wines, rare cooks. + + 'Twill smell of stale tobacco smoke + Ere many days I fear, + And hear full many a rattling joke, + And feel, perhaps, a tear. + + Why is it here? Alas for me! + I broke it at a ball. + "Apologize--repair it" See? + Five dollars gone,--that's all. + + + + +Certainty. + + Phyllis, love may be for you, + But it is not for me; + For fortune comes between us two, + And says it must not be. + + Another fellow's fortune, too; + A million, as I know. + You ask me how I found it out? + Your mater told me so. + + + + +Caught. + + When Phyllis turned her eyes on me + I blushed and hesitated; + For though on terms familiar, we + Were not at all related. + + I felt her mild, reproachful glance, + And knew her words would rankle. + To tell the truth, I had, by chance, + Been looking at her ankle. + + + + +An Important Distinction. + + She said, without a single sigh, + And hardly hesitation, + That she would be my sister, aye, + Or any fond relation. + + I answered cunningly, "Ah me, + I've sisters by the dozen; + Please make it in the next degree, + For one may wed a cousin." + + + + +Two Kinds. + + Oh, her eyes, her beautiful eyes! + How they melt when she sobs or she sighs! + How they droop + When she blushes! + How they flash + When she crushes + The love she's compelled to disguise! + + Oh, her i's, her beautiful i's! + Who can tell them apart though he tries + From her m's + Or her e's, + N's, or u's + As you please + In her letters? I offer a prize. + + + + +What it Is. + + Just a little melancholy, + Just a tear or two, + Just a word that's naughty, + Just a spiteful "pooh!" + + Just an extra cocktail, + Just a flower-bill due, + Just another ring to take + Unto my friend, the Jew. + That is what it is to be + Rejected, Miss, by you. + + + + +In her Pew. + + She looked up from her pew + (Why she did, Heaven knows); + But I smiled; wouldn't you? + 'T was the right thing to do; + And, pshaw, nobody knew. + Then I tried hard to pose, + But a look of hers froze + All my blood. And I woo + Her in future, old chappie, when not in her pew. + + + + +The Suspicious Lover to the Star. + + O silver star, + That seeth far, + Tell my poor heart what she is doing; + And ease my pain, + Who would again + Be at her side, and still be wooing. + + Does she regret + The token set + By me upon her slender finger? + Or in the dance + Do her eyes glance + At it sometimes,--and sometimes linger? + + Be, silver star, + Particular, + And do not be afraid of hurting. + I know her well, + And truth to tell, + I fear my lady love is flirting. + + + + +A Slight Surprise. + + Come, lovely Laura! strike the lyre, + And I will sing a song to thee + That will thy maiden heart inspire + With love, and love alone for me. + + Why hesitate? Come, strike the lyre! + Down where the chord is minor D. + Of wooing thee I'll never tire. + Good gracious! Why do you strike me? + + + + +Past vs. Present. + + Through all the days I courted her + My memory fondly floats, + When love and I exhorted her + To read, re-read my notes. + + But now I love her ten times more, + And my soul fairly gloats + To think that my hard times are o'er,-- + For now she pays my notes. + + + + +The Usual Way. + + Three young maidens sat in a row, + With three grim dragons behind 'em; + And each of these maidens had a young beau, + And they all of 'em made 'em mind 'em. + + These three maidens are married now; + In three brown-stone fronts you'll find 'em. + But ever since the very first row + They can none of 'em make 'em mind 'em. + + + + +A Difference in Style. + + Sweet Phyllis sat upon a stile, + With love and me beside her, + Her red lips in a pouting smile. + A pout? Her eyes belied her. + + My thoughts were merry as the day,-- + And though the joke was shocking,-- + I shouted quick, and turned away: + "A spider's on your stocking!" + + The fun, of course, I did not see, + But heard an exclamation + That sounded much like "Gracious me!" + And guessed the consternation. + + Then Phyllis sat upon the style + Of men who would deride her; + But she no longer sits the while + With love and me beside her. + + + + +Afraid. + + Down the broad stairs, + Stranger to cares, + My love comes tripping and smiling and free; + The snows on her breast + Are a blush unconfessed. + I wonder what fate has in waiting for me? + + My heart seems to throb + Like a broken-paced cob; + I fear I'm a coward in love, as they say. + She's commencing to laugh; + How the fellows will chaff. + By Jove, I'm not going to ask her to-day. + + + + +Ye Retort Exasperating. + + "Sweete maide," ye lovesicke youthe remarked, + "Thou'rt fickle as my star! + By far ye worste I ever sparked, + You are! You really are! + + Albeit yt my brains are nil, + I'm gallante as can be; + I'lle be to you whate'er you wille, + If you'lle be more to me." + + "Faire youthe," ye maide replied, "I do + Not barter, as a rule, + But I'lle be sister untoe you,-- + Be you my Aprille foole." + + + + +A Rhyming Reverie. + + It was a dainty lady's glove; + A souvenir to rhyme with love. + + It was the memory of a kiss, + So called to make it rhyme with bliss. + + There was a month at Mt. Desert, + Synonymous and rhymes with flirt. + + A pretty girl and lots of style, + Which rhymes with happy for a while. + + There came a rival old and bold, + To make him rhyme with gold and sold. + + A broken heart there had to be. + Alas, the rhyme just fitted me. + + + + +A Sure Winner. + + Oh, treat me not with cold disdain, + My pretty maids of fashion; + Look upon the hearts you've slain, + And listen to my passion. + + Though I am not so peerly proud + As men of higher station, + So handsome that the madding crowd + Collects in admiration; + + And have, perhaps, too great a store + Of sandy hair and freckles, + I've mortgages and bonds galore, + And muchly many shekels. + + You yet may journey league or mile + To wed, as you're aware. + Come, cease your longing for mere style, + And take A. MILLIONNAIRE. + + + + +Tantalization. + + She stands beneath the mistletoe + As though she did not know it. + She looks quite unconcerned, you know, + And pretty, yes,--but, blow it, + + I have to turn and walk away; + I'll have revenge anon. + She knows quite well, alack the day, + That my wife is looking on. + + + + +His Usual Fate. + + All one season + Lost to reason, + Breathing sea air + By the beach, where + Young hearts mingle, + Love was playful + All the day full. + We were single. + + Now with mournful + Looks and scornful + Turns he too us; + He is through us, + Worried, harried. + Love is sighing; + Love is dying. + We are married. + + + + +On Two Letters from Her. + + I wrote her a letter. It took her quite two + To answer it after she'd read it. + My letter contained what perhaps even you + Have written,--at least, you have said it. + + My letter contained the old tale of a heart + That longed to be linked to another; + And I told her to think on each separate part, + And ask the advice of her mother. + + She apparently did, for the very next mail + Brought me a message of woe. + It took her two letters; they made me turn pale; + For they were the letters "N" "O". + + + + +A Serenade--en Deux Langues. + + Sous le maple, mort de night, + Avec le lune beams shining through, + Ecoutez-moi, mon hapless plight. + Je vous aime--qui lovez-vous? + + Je plink les strings de mon guitar. + Il fait bien froid; J'am nervous, too. + Dites-moi, dites-moi ce que vous are? + Je vous aime; qui lovez-vous? + + Tu es si belle, je veux vous wed. + Mon pere est riche--comme riche est you? + Bonne nuit, adieu; J'ai cold in head. + Je vous aime--qui lovez-vous. + + + + +When a Girl says "No." + + When a girl says "Yes," + There's a quick caress, + A kiss, a sigh, + A melting eye. + There's a vision of things + That hard cash brings,-- + A winter at Nice + With a servant apiece, + A long yachting cruise, + Name in "personal news," + Plenty of wine, + Two hours to dine; + But it's different quite when a girl says "No." + + When a girl says "No," + It's so different, oh! + No kiss, ten sighs, + Two tear-dimmed eyes. + There's a vision of things + That poverty brings,-- + A winter complete + On Uneasy Street, + A temptation to rob, + A twelve-dollar job, + A boarding-house meal, + And you pray a new deal; + For it's different quite when a girl says "No." + + + + +Uncertainty. + + Jenny has a laughing eye, + Yet she is most wondrous shy. + But why? + + Jenny says she hates the men; + Still she'll marry. Artful Jen! + But when? + + I've a rival who is rich; + With one of us sweet Jen will hitch. + But which? + + + + +Her Peculiarities. + +_The Question of the Learned Man_. + + How doth the little blushing maid + Employ each shining hour? + Doth she, in sober thought arrayed, + Learn knowledge that is power? + + Say, doth she mend her father's socks, + And cook his evening meal? + And doth she make her own sweet frocks + With adolescent zeal? + + + + +_The Reply of the Observant Youth_. + + Not much; not much. She knows it all; + She doth not need to learn. + She thinks of naught but rout or ball, + And which youth will be her'n. + + She hustles for a diamond ring; + She cares not for her dad. + She does not make him anything,-- + Except, she makes him mad. + + + + +Tying the Strings of her Shoe. + + Tying the strings of her shoe, + With only the moon to see me. + Could I be quick? Could you? + That is the time to woo + What would any one do? + I tied no knot that would free me, + Tying the strings of her shoe, + With only the moon to see me. + + + + +When You are Rejected. + + Don't say + "Good day," + Then grab the door and slam it. + Be quite + Polite; + Go out, and then say, "---- it." + + + + +A Bachelor's Views. + + A pipe, a book, + A cosy nook, + A fire,--at least its embers; + A dog, a glass;-- + 'T is thus we pass + Such hours as one remembers. + + Who'd wish to wed? + Poor Cupid's dead + These thousand years, I wager. + The modern maid + Is but a jade, + Not worth the time to cage her. + + In silken gown + To "take" the town + Her first and last ambition. + What good is she + To you or me + Who have but a "position"? + + So let us drink + To her,--but think + Of him who has to keep her; + And _sans_ a wife + Let's spend our life + In bachelordom,--it's cheaper. + + + + +My Cigarette. + + Ma pauvre petite, + My little sweet, + Why do you cry? + Why this small tear, + So pure and clear, + In each blue eye? + + 'My cigarette-- + I'm smoking yet?' + (I'll be discreet.) + I toss it, see, + Away from me + Into the street. + + You see I do + All things for you. + Come, let us sup. + (But oh, what joy + To be that boy + Who picked it up.) + + + + +Discovered. + +AN EPISODE ON BEACON HILL. + + You are frowning; + I don't wonder. + Reading Browning; + Hard as thunder! + + Oh, excuse me; + You adore it? + You amuse me; + I abhor it. + + Let me see it. + Who has taught you? + Now to me it-- + Ah, I've caught you. + + It _must_ be hard so + (Hence the frown?) + To read the bard so-- + Upside down. + + + + +The Ice in the Punch. + + The wail of the 'cello is soft, sweet, and low; + There are strains of romance in the thrumming banjo. + The violin's note--feel it float in your ear; + And the harp makes one fancy that angels are near. + + The voice of a young girl can reach to the heart; + The song of the baritone--well, it is art. + The flute and the lute in gavotte--the guitar + In soft serenade--how entrancing they are! + But to all the mad millions + Who dance at cotillons + There's naught like the clink and the clank and the crunch + Of the ice in the punch. + + So here's to the recipe, ancient in Spain, + And here's to the basket of cobwebbed champagne. + Again to the genius who grows the sharp spice, + But ten times to King Winter who furnishes ice; + For to all the mad millions + Who dance at cotillons + There's naught like the clink and the clank and the crunch + Of the ice in the punch. + + + + +The Tale of a Broken Heart. + + She was a + Beautiful, + Dutiful, + Grand, + And rollicking queen of Bohemia, + With a cheek that was + Rosier, + Cosier, + And + As soft as a lily, and creamier. + + She was always com- + pelling me, + Selling me, + I + Was her slave, but she treated me shamefully. + She went on the + Stage, was a + Rage, as a-- + Why-- + As a page, and they spoke of her blamefully. + And then in the + Papers her + Capers were + Writ. + + I love her no longer,--I swear it; + But I oft spend a + Dollar and + Holler and + Sit + Through her antics. Oh, how can I bear it? + + + + +Where did you get it? + + Pray, ladies, ye of wondrous clothes, + That draw admiring "ahs!" and "ohs!" + And "By Joves!" as men chat, + Permit me,--love the right bestows,-- + Where did you get that hat? + + The very hat, sweet maids, I mean, + So often now on Broadway seen, + That is so very flat; + Black as a rule, but sometimes green. + Where did you get that hat? + + In shape an oyster-dish,--the crown,-- + A ribbon bristles up and down, + Quite striking--yes, all that; + The sweetest, neatest thing in town! + Where _did_ you get that hat? + + + + +No + + "No!" The word + Fell upon my ears + Like the knell of a funeral bell. + I had fondly expected + A whispered "yes" that + Would steal into my soul + Like the song of an angel + From some distant Aidenn. + I arose and brushed off + The knees of my trousers. + "Farewell," I said; "you have ruined my life." + "Nonsense," she replied in the cold, cutting voice + Of a woman who has been used to $100 bills + And a coupe; + + "There have been thirty-seven before you, and they + Are all married and happy now. + You see I know all about young men." + "I do not think a young, timid girl + Should 'No' so much," I answered. And going out + (Carefully escorted by the butler, for there was + A better overcoat than mine in the hall), + I left her alone and unloved,--with no one to care for her + Save a couple of dozen servants + And a doting father and mother. + + + + +A Midsummer Night's Tempest. + +AN EPILOGUE TO HAMLET, PERFORMED BY AMATEURS. + +SCENE: _Elsinore--a platform before the castle (on an improvised stage). +Inky darkness. Shade of Hamlet (solus)_. + + _Shade of Hamlet_: Oh, did you see him, did you see the knave, + The spindle-shanked, low-browed, and cock-eyed + Clerk to an attorney, play at Hamlet, + Dream-souled Hamlet, wearing an eyeglass? + Oh, it was horrible. + + (_Enter Shade of Laertes_.) + + _Shade of Laertes_: What's the matter with Hamlet? + + _S. of H._: He's not all right. + No, by the fame of Shakespeare, he's all wrong. + A certain convocation of talented amateurs + Are e'en at him. + Your amateur is your only emperor for talent; + There's not a genius in the universe + Who will essay as much. + + _S. of L._: Or, who will imitate nature so abominably. + Your head is level, Ham., and I--even I, + Laertes, suffered at the hands of one + Whose fiery hair, parted in the middle + Like a cranberry pie, caused me to believe + That some of nature's journeymen had made a man, + And not made him well, he imitated nature + So abominably. + + _S. of H._: Ha' the fair Ophelia! + + _(Enter Shade of Ophelia_.) + + _S. of O._: Yes, my lord, thine own Ophelia, + Come back to earth with heaviness o' grief + Thy madness ne'er begot, for I have seen + The efforts of a lisping, smirking maid, + As graceful as a bean-pole, and as lean. + Attempt to paint the sorrow of my heart. + Oh, I would get me to a nunnery. + + _S of H._: Let me Ophelyour pulse. + Mad--quite mad; and all because + A creature whom these mortals call a Miss, + Quite properly, as her efforts are amiss, + Would fain portray thee. Soft you, now! + O fair Ophelia. Nymph in thine orisons + Be all her sins remembered. + Why let the stricken deer go weep, + The untrained amateur play? + All those that watch must surely weep. + So wise men stay away. + + (_Flickering blue lights and curtain_.) + + + + +The Abused Gallant. + + Two lovely maidens (woe is me!) + Play tennis with my heart; + And each is wondrous fair to see, + And each is wondrous smart. + + In learning, money, beauty, birth, + None can surpass them--none. + But each receives my "court" with mirth, + And tells the other one. + + My "court"! The term is fitly used-- + A tennis court, you see. + And I know well I am abused, + By the "racket" they give me. + + Maud strikes my heart a brutal blow, + And Mabel cries out, "Fault!" + And back and forth I undergo + A feminine assault. + + Maud asks my age. Alas! I hear + Sweet Mabel say, "The goose + Is very nearly forty, dear." + Maud answers, "Oh, 'the deuce'!" + + And so my poor heart with their wit + Is volleyed oft and oft, + Till Mabel cries, while holding it, + "This heart is far too soft." + + And firing it into the net, + She says, with girlish vim, + "Although he isn't in our 'set,' + We're making 'game' of him." + + And making game they are, I swear + By all the saints above, + With all the terms of tennis there + Save but the sweetest, "love." + + + + +After the Ball. + + A last word in the vestibule, + A touch of taper fingers, + A scent of roses, sweet and cool, + When she has gone still lingers. + + He pauses at the carriage door + To sigh a bit and ponder + He thinks the matter o'er and o'er, + And all his senses wander. + + With mantle thrown aside in haste, + Her heart a bit uncertain, + And neither time nor love to waste, + She watches through the curtain. + + And she has played him well, he knows + Nor has he dared to stop her. + She wonders when he will propose; + He wonders how he'll drop her. + + + + +Vanity Fair. + + Oh, whence, oh, where + Is Vanity Fair? + I want to be seen with the somebodies there. + I've money and beauty and college-bred brains; + Though my 'scutcheon's not spotless, who'll mind a few stains? + To caper I wish in the chorus of style, + And wed an aristocrat after a while + So please tell me truly, and please tell me fair, + Just how many miles it's from Madison Square. + + It's here, it's there, + Is Vanity Fair. + It's not like a labyrinth, not like a lair. + It's North and it's South, and it's East and it's West; + You can see it, oh, anywhere, quite at its best. + Dame Fashion is queen, Ready Money is king, + You can join it, provided you don't know a thing. + It's miles over here, and it's miles over there; + And it's not seven inches from Madison Square. + + + + +For the Long Voyage. + + "Were I a captain bold," I said, + And gently clasped her hand, + "Wouldst sail with me, by fancy led, + To every foreign strand? + + "Wouldst help me furl my silver sail, + And be my trusty crew? + Wouldst stand by in the midnight gale, + My pilot tried and true?" + + "Well, no," she answered, blushing red, + "Such heavy work I hate. + But,"--listen what the maiden said,-- + "I would be your first mate." + + + + + This is the end. + + The printing was + done by John Wilson + & Son, Cambridge + for + Fredrick A. Stokes + Company + New York + MDCCCICVIII + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's When hearts are trumps, by Thomas Winthrop Hall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN HEARTS ARE TRUMPS *** + +***** This file should be named 11711.txt or 11711.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/7/1/11711/ + +Produced by papeters, Garrett Alley, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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