Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/77

 She prates of Tom Noddy, the handsome young goose
 * Of Don Trombonetti, divine on the flute;

And then, with a smile that’s as arch as—the deuce,
 * Quotes pert panegyrics on somebody’s foot!

She’ll sing you a hymn or tell you a fib,
 * (Just one of those cynical, feathery trifles,)

And then, with a smirk that I think rather glib,
 * Sigh after some monster that left with the Rifles.

She vows I’m a miracle walking with men—
 * (Ugh! I swallow it all with a groan and a cough),

For I know that most women are comical, when
 * Their nightcaps are on and the visitors off!

Ay, rattle ahead and prattle away,
 * But, in sepulchred thought, I brood over another;

We parted, alas! about nine months today,
 * And we never must meet again—somehow or other.

They tell me, poor bird, it is painful to see
 * How you’ve changed, since we rode in the warm summer weather;

And oh, if I felt you were pining for me,
 * I’d hew me a path that would bring us together.