Roses laughed in her pretty hair

Roses laughed in her pretty hair, Shading her eyes from the sun’s rude stare A little hand was prettily raised, Nor ever though it might be praised. Five little fingers, soft and white, A dimple, a sheer kiss of delight. But, miss, a hand that I held in mine, Some nights ago was e’en more fine. A hand that I must grant more praise, Three aces and a pair of treys.