Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/43

Rh MY RIVAL

GO to concert, party, ball—

What profit is in these?

I sit alone against the wall

And strive to look at ease.

The incense that is mine by right

They burn before Her shrine;

And that's because I'm seventeen

And she is forty-nine.

I cannot check my girlish blush,

My colour comes and goes.

I redden to my finger-tips,

And sometimes to my nose.

But she is white where white should be,

And red where red should shine.

The blush that flies at seventeen

Is fixed at forty-nine.

I wish I had her constant cheek:

I wish that I could sing

All sorts of funny little songs,

Not quite the proper thing.

I'm very gauche and very shy,

Her jokes aren't in my line;

And, worst of all, I'm seventeen

While She is forty-nine.

The young men come, the young men go,

Each pink and white and neat,

She's older than their mothers, but

They grovel at Her feet.