All too soon comes Winter’s grief,été Spendthrift Love’s false friends turn foes; Softly comes Old Age, the thief, Steals the rapture, leaves the throes: Love his mantle round him throws,— “Time to say good-bye; it snows.” _James Russell Lowell._
I’VE always been told that I’m pretty (And really I think so myself), I’m accomplished, good-tempered, and witty, And papa has got plenty of pelf. My teeth, eyes, and curls, I won’t mention, My shape, nor my delicate bloom; But I’m sure I deserve the attention Of “the handsomest man in the room.” Yes, I know I deserve the attention, Of the “handsomest man in the room.”
When I met that sublimest of fellows, The sight really made my heart jump; Other men shrank to mere punchinellos, As he towered like a pine in a clump. So noble and classic each feature, With a touching expression of gloom, That I said to myself—“The dear creature! He’s the handsomest man in the room!” “Yes!” I said to myself,—“The dear creature! He’s the handsomest man in the room!”
He asked me if I’d walk a measure, (When he came it was nearly midnight)— I said—“With a great deal of pleasure,” For he danced like a perfect delight. So in waltzing and polking we sported, Till supper sent forth its perfume, And I went down to table, escorted By “the handsomest man in the room”— Yes, I went down to table, escorted By “the handsomest man in the room.”
I thought ’twas a nice situation, So snugly together we sat, And in hopes of a pleasant flirtation, I tried to engage him in chat. But, to talk of himself never backward, He strove modest airs to assume, For he told me, he felt very awkward As “the handsomest man in the room”— Really, really, one does feel so awkward, As “the handsomest man in the room!”
Thought I—“This is really too stupid! Your good looks are very well known, But you ought to know, Grenadier Cupid, That I’d much rather hear of my own.” Yet should he reform in this one thing (Of which there are hopes, I presume), We still may contrive to make something Of the handsomest man in the room, Yes, we still may contrive to make something Of the handsomest man in the room. _William Macquorn Rankine._
WHEREAS, on certain boughs and sprays Now divers birds are heard to sing, And sundry flowers their heads upraise, Hail to the coming on of Spring!