[Illustration:  “THAT SWEET GIRL GRADUATE.”]

That Sweet Girl Graduate.

So stately and so dignified
  She looks in cap and gown,
I hardly dare to speak to her,
  This grad. of great renown.

I scarcely can believe my eyes! 
  It surely can’t be she
Who always seemed so very shy,
  So very coy to me!

But suddenly the spell departs,
  And I give thanks to Fate;
For anxiously she asks me if
  Her mortar-board’s on straight.

Harvard Lampoon.

Faint Heart.

My lady fair
Her golden hair
Lets fall a-down her shoulder. 
I’d steal a tress,—­
She’s no redress,—­
Were I a little bolder.

From her sweet lip
A bee might sip,
Sweeter than rose-leaf’s savor. 
A kiss I’d take,—­
No cry she’d make,—­
Were I a little braver.

Her neat, trim waist
Just suits my taste;
Close in my arms I’d fold her,
And clasp her tight,—­
She’d feel no fright,—­
Were I a little bolder.

She’s waiting now
’Till I find how
To ask of her a favor. 
She’ll be my wife,—­
I’d stake my life,—­
When I’m a little braver.

HARLAN COLBY PEARSON.
Dartmouth Literary Monthly.

A Spring Lament.

The spring is come; warm breezes blow;
It doesn’t make me happy, tho’;—­
For seasons’ changes only bring
To me the pain of ordering
Another suit.  Style changes so!

This hat I’ll hardly dare to show
Near “Easter bonnets;” it’s too low;
I fear I must be purchasing;
The spring is come.

I’m glad to have the winter go;
I don’t like ice, I don’t like snow. 
Green fields, bright flowers, and birds to sing,
Of course I like that sort of thing;
But still—­it makes me blue to know
The spring is come.

LOUIS JONES MAGEE.
Wesleyan Argus.

A Street-Car Romance.

I write to offer you my heart,
O maiden, whom I do not know. 
Pray do not think me premature
In making known my feelings so,
For I have loved you steadfastly,
O damsel of the unknown name,
And all last night and half to-day
My passion has been in a flame.

’Twas not your face, though that is fair,
Nor yet your voice bewitched me so: 
(I heard you ask the motor-man
How long before the car would go.)
I saw you on the car that went
From Harvard Square on Tuesday noon;
I don’t believe that you saw me,
For you were reading the Lampoon.

And this is why I write to you: 
To say that I am wholly thine,
I love you, for that first-page joke,—­
The one you laughed at,—­that was mine.

W. AMES.
Harvard Lampoon.

Applied Mathematics.

“My daughter,” and his voice was stern,
  “You must set this matter right;
What time did the Sophomore leave,
  Who sent in his card last night?”