The ladies men admire, I've heard, Would shudder at a wicked word. Their candle gives a single light; They'd rather stay at home at night. They do not keep awake till three, Nor read erotic poetry. They never sanction the impure, Nor recognize an overture. They shrink from powders and from paints ... So far, I've had no complaints. _Song in a Minor Key_ There's a place I know where the birds swing low, And wayward vines go roaming, Where the lilacs nod, and a marble god Is pale, in scented gloaming. And at sunset there comes a lady fair Whose eyes are deep with yearning. By an old, old gate does the lady wait Her own true love's returning. But the days go by, and the lilacs die, And trembling birds seek cover; Yet the lady stands, with her long white hands Held out to greet her lover. And it's there she'll stay till the shadowy day A monument they grave her. She will always wait by the same old gate,-- The gate her true love gave her. _Experience_ Some men break your heart in two, Some men fawn and flatter, Some men never look at you; And that cleans up the matter. _Neither Bloody Nor Bowed_ They say of me, and so they should, It's doubtful if I come to good. I see acquaintances and friends Accumulating dividends, And making enviable names In science, art, and parlor games. But I, despite expert advice, Keep doing things I think are nice, And though to good I never come-- Inseparable my nose and thumb! _The Burned Child_ Love has had his way with me. This my heart is torn and maimed Since he took his play with me. Cruel well the bow-boy aimed, Shot, and saw the feathered shaft Dripping bright and bitter red. He that shrugged his wings and laughed-- Better had he left me dead. Sweet, why do you plead me, then, Who have bled so sore of that? Could I bear it once again? ... Drop a hat, dear, drop a hat!