Be it March or May, it matters not,
Snow or violets on the ground,
I know a little bewitching spot,
Where it is fair the whole year round.
A low tea-table set out for two,
A divan with cushions piled on high,
Dresden tea-cups of pink and blue,
A fat little kettle simmering nigh,
In winter a fire that cracks and roars,
In summer a window where breezes play.
What if it hails or snows or pours,
In that little spot it is always May.
A girl--of course, you will say, when one
Describes such a haven from life's mad whirl.
There must be a--wait till my song is done.
This is _such_ an entrancing girl!
Cheeks as fresh as a summer rose,
Eyes that change like the changing sea,
Lips where a smile first comes, then goes.
And, oh! but she makes delicious tea.
So we sit and talk while the kettle sings,
And. life seems better at least to me,
The fleeting hours have golden wings,
When in that little spot I'm drinking tea.
Love? Ah, no, we are far above
Such folly. Our time we can better spend.
This world is brimming with loveless love,
But 'tis rarely enough one finds a friend.
GUY WETMORE CARRYL.
_Columbia Spectator._
~Another Complaint Against Cupid.~
Wherever maidens may be found
Dan Cupid's sure to wander round,
I found him once, the little fool,
Attending on a cooking-school.
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