She has hair that is fluffy, straight, banged, or half curled;
    Has a parasol, oft by her deft fingers twirled. 
    She has eyes either brown or black, gray or true blue;
    Has a neat fitting glove and a still neater shoe.

    She has cheeks that make bitter the envious rose;
    She has trunks upon trunks of the costliest clothes;
    She has jewels that shine as the stars do at night;
    And she dances as Ariel dances—­or might.

    She knows nothing much, but she’s great on the smile;
    Her profession is love, and she flirts all the while;
    She’s accustomed to sitting on rocks in the glen;
    She is also accustomed to sitting on men.

Her Fan.

    A dainty thing of silk and lace,
      Of feathers, and of paint,
    Held often to her laughing face
      When I assume the saint.

    Too dainty far to mix with these
      Old pipes, cigars, and books
    Of bachelordom,—­rare life of ease,—­
      Rare friends, rare wines, rare cooks.

    ’Twill smell of stale tobacco smoke
      Ere many days I fear,
    And hear full many a rattling joke,
      And feel, perhaps, a tear.

    Why is it here?  Alas for me! 
      I broke it at a ball. 
    “Apologize—­repair it” See? 
      Five dollars gone,—­that’s all.

Certainty.

    Phyllis, love may be for you,
      But it is not for me;
    For fortune comes between us two,
      And says it must not be.

    Another fellow’s fortune, too;
      A million, as I know. 
    You ask me how I found it out? 
      Your mater told me so.

Caught.

    When Phyllis turned her eyes on me
      I blushed and hesitated;
    For though on terms familiar, we
      Were not at all related.

    I felt her mild, reproachful glance,
      And knew her words would rankle. 
    To tell the truth, I had, by chance,
      Been looking at her ankle.

An Important Distinction.

    She said, without a single sigh,
      And hardly hesitation,
    That she would be my sister, aye,
      Or any fond relation.

    I answered cunningly, “Ah me,
      I’ve sisters by the dozen;
    Please make it in the next degree,
      For one may wed a cousin.”

Two Kinds.

    Oh, her eyes, her beautiful eyes! 
    How they melt when she sobs or she sighs! 
      How they droop
        When she blushes! 
      How they flash
        When she crushes
    The love she’s compelled to disguise!

    Oh, her i’s, her beautiful i’s! 
    Who can tell them apart though he tries
      From her m’s
        Or her e’s,
      N’s, or u’s
        As you please
      In her letters?  I offer a prize.

What it Is.