"Whatever is, is good," your gracious creed. You wear your joy of living like a crown. Love lights your simplest act, your every deed. (Drop it, I tell you--put that kitten down!) You are God's kindliest gift of all,--a friend. Your shining loyalty unflecked by doubt, You ask but leave to follow to the end. (Couldn't you wait until I took you out?) _Folk Tune_ Other lads, their ways are daring: Other lads, they're not afraid; Other lads, they show they're caring; Other lads--they know a maid. Wiser Jock than ever you were, Will's with gayer spirit blest, Robin's kindlier and truer,-- Why should I love you the best? Other lads, their eyes are bolder. Young they are, and strong and slim, Ned is straight and broad of shoulder, Donald has a way with him. David stands a head above you, Dick's as brave as Lancelot,-- Why, ah why, then, should I love you? Naturally, I do not. _Godspeed_ Oh, seek, my love, your newer way; I'll not be left in sorrow. So long as I have yesterday, Go take your damned to-morrow! _Song of Perfect Propriety_ Oh, I should like to ride the seas, A roaring buccaneer; A cutlass banging at my knees, A dirk behind my ear. And when my captives' chains would clank I'd howl with glee and drink, And then fling out the quivering plank And watch the beggars sink. I'd like to straddle gory decks, And dig in laden sands, And know the feel of throbbing necks Between my knotted hands. Oh, I should like to strut and curse Among my blackguard crew ... But I am writing little verse, As little ladies do. Oh, I should like to dance and laugh And pose and preen and sway, And rip the hearts of men in half, And toss the bits away. I'd like to view the reeling years Through unastonished eyes, And dip my finger-tips in tears, And give my smiles for sighs. I'd stroll beyond the ancient bounds, And tap at fastened gates, And hear the prettiest of sounds,-- The clink of shattered fates. My slaves I'd like to bind with thongs That cut and burn and chill.... But I am writing little songs, As little ladies will. _Social Note_ Lady, lady, should you meet One whose ways are all discreet, One who murmurs that his wife Is the lodestar of his life, One who keeps assuring you That he never was untrue, Never loved another one ... Lady, lady, better run! _One Perfect Rose_ A single flow'r he sent me, since we met. All tenderly his messenger he chose; Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet-- One perfect rose.