Part 3 (1/2)

To sing to you would be absurd.

You'd not believe a single word!

To touch you would be madder still, And so I sit and fill . . . and fill My eyes with looking. Like a child Who sees an iced cake, But knows from sad experience The tummy ache!

Women are Like That

”Here, in the drift of the dunes” he said, ”Turn your head”!

”Now the curve of your throat is a troubling song Your face is a flower, dreaming and white, My heart cries out in the rapturous night.

Give me your lips and your heart”, said he, But she shook her head . . . emphatically!

”Gee, but you're sweet!”, the other said, And tilted back her little head Appreciatively.

He didn't call her ”fairest one”, She didn't mind ... or think it queer ...

But looked on him, adoringly, And whispered . . .

”O my Dearest Dear”!

Tea-Party

They get their heads together, The honeyed malice drips.

And all the gentler little wives Get out their blacksnake whips.

It's such a pleasant pastime The hours simply fly.

Before they know it's time to go But who will make the try O who will have the fort.i.tude To rise and first depart Knowing full well the hungry horde Is dining on her heart!

Hobson's Choice

Life is a rose And life is a thistle - And life is the screech of a steamboat's whistle But nevertheless - if you asked the Dead They'd probably choose to be in your bed!

Letter from Paris

You write of Paris like a man Telling of the woman he loves.

There is love in the lines that draw the city under rain; The higgeldy-piggeldy garrets That climb crazily against the tender pink of the sky; Montmartre, with the cafes, just as you'd read they'd be!

Everything just as glamorous . . . just as exciting A gay ... a mocking . . . a s.h.i.+ning, s.h.i.+mmering place A feminine city!