Page:The eighth sin (IA eighthsin00morlrich).pdf/63



in a punt my Julia goes She wields the pole and chastely shows Her dainty ankles—I repose.

And as she poles she smiling thinks "I'm glad I wore the silk ones—pink's My colour"—O the crafty minx!

I, meditating on her charms, Her supple grace, her bare brown arms. . . Suddenly, smitten with alarms

I feel a scratch. O where are we? Under the spiky hawthorn tree, Whither her punting taketh me!