Part 43 (1/2)

Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy; O, the winter winds are wondrous chilly!

”Winter weather, Close together; Wouldn't tarry, Better marry.

Milly, Billy, Billy, Milly, Two--one, one--two, Don't wait, 'twon't do, Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,”-- Goes the kitchen clock.

Winters two have gone, and where is Milly?

Spring has come again, and where is Billy?

”Give me credit, For I did it; Treat me kindly, Mind you wind me.

Mister Billy, Mistress Milly, My--O, O--my, By-by, by-by, Nickety-knock, cradle rock,”-- Goes the kitchen clock.

_John Vance Cheney._

LADY MINE

Lady mine, most fair thou art With youth's gold and white and red; 'Tis a pity that thy heart Is so much harder than thy head.

This has stayed my kisses oft, This from all thy charms debarr'd, That thy head is strangely soft, While thy heart is strangely hard.

Nothing had kept us apart-- I had loved thee, I had wed-- Hadst thou had a softer heart Or a harder head.

But I think I'll bear Love's smart Till the wound has healed and fled, Or thy head is like thy heart, Or thy heart is like thy head.

_H. E. Clarke._

BALLADE OF THE GOLFER IN LOVE

In the ”foursome” some would fain Find nepenthe for their woe; Following through s.h.i.+ne or rain Where the ”greens” like satin show; But I vote such sport as ”slow”-- Find it rather glum and gruesome; With a little maid I know I would play a quiet ”twosome”!

In the ”threesome,” some maintain, Lies excitement's gayest glow-- Strife that mounts unto the brain Like the sparkling _Veuve Clicquot_; My opinion? Nay, not so!

Noon or eve or morning dewsome With a little maid I know I would play a quiet ”twosome”!

Bays of glory some would gain With grim ”Bogey” for their foe; (He's a bogey who's not slain Save one smite with canny blow!) Yet I hold this tame, and though My refrain seems trite, 'tis truesome; With a little maid I know I would play a quiet ”twosome”!

|envoy|

Comrades all who golfing go, Happiness--if you would view some-- With a little maid _you_ know, Haste and play a quiet ”twosome”!

_Clinton Scollard._

BALLADE OF FORGOTTEN LOVES

Some poets sing of sweethearts dead, Some sing of true loves far away; Some sing of those that others wed, And some of idols turned to clay.