A lovely girl, with angel face, And hair like molten gold, Whose violet eyes, in sweet surprise, ’Neath ivory lids unfold Their meeting charm, with eyebrows arched And forehead broad and low; And scarlet lips, where Cupid sips The honey from its bow. Behold, her schooldays almost o’er, Slight, pretty and precise, A favourite at all the sports-- And voted “very nice,” At tennis, and at golfing, or at swimming Quite _au fait_; And all the rage upon the stage Of amateurs at play. At length the happy day arrives; She at the altar stands, Declaring that she will obey Her dear liege lord’s commands. The vows are said, and she is wed, Queen of his heart she’ll reign, And never, never make him wish To be unwed again. A few years flown, a little dent Appears between her eyes; When vexed, she murmurs, “I’m not sure That I was very wise To marry young, with nerves unstrung; For me there is no mirth; Of course, I would not change my “hub” For anyone on earth.” At forty, she is young again, The children growing up, And, what with theatres, and trips To see the Melbourne Cup, Pandora-like, she clings to hope As long as it will last-- If only Time will stay his hand, Nor sow crow’s feet so fast. At fifty-five, too tired to walk, And only taking drives, The doctor says she is too plump, Still, to look young she strives. And well she may; why should she not? She’s just the age she looks; And man is just the age he feels, Least, so it says in books. [Illustration: text decoration] THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC. T The wild winds moan a requiem for the dead H Hard by Newfoundland. In an icy bed E England’s, America’s, illustrous men L Lie side by side, vanished from mortal ken. O Oh! Earth is plunged in grief: brothers are we; S Souls cry to souls across that cold grey sea. S So late she sped along that gleaming track, O Oh! could unnumbered tears but call her back. F Forth to her doom with twice seven hundred breasts T Throbbing with pulsing life, that floating palace rests. H Howl loud ye winds! Ye cruel ice-floes weep! E E’en though thy victims, yet they calmly sleep, T Thou canst not harm them more. The human tears I In memory’s casket down the future years T Their grief will take; recount the awful fate. A Alas! Those calls for aid which came too late N Nought could avail. The mammoth vessel dashed I In sudden thundering, while her timbers crashed. C Caught in the vortex ’neath the deafening boom; I Instant the shock which hurled her to her doom. N No fond adieu; gone beyond time and sense,