TOGETHER ON THE STAIRS.
They sat together on the stairs,Far up where there was shade:’Twas not because there were no chairsTo sit on, I’m afraid.Some time they had been sitting thereAlone, while others danced,And people, coming out for air’Tween dances, often glancedUp at them, while they seemed to beOblivious of remark,And sat like two birds in a tree,Within a shady park.To eyes that saw them from below,They looked a loving pair:The many signs which lovers showThey seemed to show up there.At least, that is the way, to chapsWho sauntered in the hall,Things looked; but then, of course, perhaps,’Twas nothing after all.For, though on spooning they seemed bent,Regardless how time flew,’Twas possible that “distance lentEnchantment to the view.”His face bent down until her browSeemed touched by his mustache,While she smiled on him—well, just howA girl smiles on her mash.He whispered something low and sweet,And pointed down to whereTwo little blue-silk-slippered feetWere making people stare.She blushed, and thrust one farther out,As if for him to see;A look of pain o’er came her pout:What ever could it be?“Sure, never did a girl with manSo brazenly coquetteIn public,” said, behind her fan,Each other girl you met.I’ll own appearances, indeed,Were much against the maid;But, as in many things we heed,Of harm there was no shade.How this I know, I’ll tell to you:I chanced to stand quite nearUpon the stairs, behind the two,And then to overhear.A long time passed, while neither spoke,And then at last said he,—“I’m sick of this: I’m sure you joke;Your foot’s quite well, I see.“You could, if you but cared to try,With me come down and dance.”Now, notice how her quick replyDestroys the scene’s romance.“Perhaps you think my foot’s all right;But, sure as you are born,I wish you wore my slippers tight,And had—just there—that corn.”Andrew G. Tubbs.
They sat together on the stairs,Far up where there was shade:’Twas not because there were no chairsTo sit on, I’m afraid.Some time they had been sitting thereAlone, while others danced,And people, coming out for air’Tween dances, often glancedUp at them, while they seemed to beOblivious of remark,And sat like two birds in a tree,Within a shady park.To eyes that saw them from below,They looked a loving pair:The many signs which lovers showThey seemed to show up there.At least, that is the way, to chapsWho sauntered in the hall,Things looked; but then, of course, perhaps,’Twas nothing after all.For, though on spooning they seemed bent,Regardless how time flew,’Twas possible that “distance lentEnchantment to the view.”His face bent down until her browSeemed touched by his mustache,While she smiled on him—well, just howA girl smiles on her mash.He whispered something low and sweet,And pointed down to whereTwo little blue-silk-slippered feetWere making people stare.She blushed, and thrust one farther out,As if for him to see;A look of pain o’er came her pout:What ever could it be?“Sure, never did a girl with manSo brazenly coquetteIn public,” said, behind her fan,Each other girl you met.I’ll own appearances, indeed,Were much against the maid;But, as in many things we heed,Of harm there was no shade.How this I know, I’ll tell to you:I chanced to stand quite nearUpon the stairs, behind the two,And then to overhear.A long time passed, while neither spoke,And then at last said he,—“I’m sick of this: I’m sure you joke;Your foot’s quite well, I see.“You could, if you but cared to try,With me come down and dance.”Now, notice how her quick replyDestroys the scene’s romance.“Perhaps you think my foot’s all right;But, sure as you are born,I wish you wore my slippers tight,And had—just there—that corn.”Andrew G. Tubbs.
They sat together on the stairs,Far up where there was shade:’Twas not because there were no chairsTo sit on, I’m afraid.
Some time they had been sitting thereAlone, while others danced,And people, coming out for air’Tween dances, often glanced
Up at them, while they seemed to beOblivious of remark,And sat like two birds in a tree,Within a shady park.
To eyes that saw them from below,They looked a loving pair:The many signs which lovers showThey seemed to show up there.
At least, that is the way, to chapsWho sauntered in the hall,Things looked; but then, of course, perhaps,’Twas nothing after all.
For, though on spooning they seemed bent,Regardless how time flew,’Twas possible that “distance lentEnchantment to the view.”
His face bent down until her browSeemed touched by his mustache,While she smiled on him—well, just howA girl smiles on her mash.
He whispered something low and sweet,And pointed down to whereTwo little blue-silk-slippered feetWere making people stare.
She blushed, and thrust one farther out,As if for him to see;A look of pain o’er came her pout:What ever could it be?
“Sure, never did a girl with manSo brazenly coquetteIn public,” said, behind her fan,Each other girl you met.
I’ll own appearances, indeed,Were much against the maid;But, as in many things we heed,Of harm there was no shade.
How this I know, I’ll tell to you:I chanced to stand quite nearUpon the stairs, behind the two,And then to overhear.
A long time passed, while neither spoke,And then at last said he,—“I’m sick of this: I’m sure you joke;Your foot’s quite well, I see.
“You could, if you but cared to try,With me come down and dance.”Now, notice how her quick replyDestroys the scene’s romance.
“Perhaps you think my foot’s all right;But, sure as you are born,I wish you wore my slippers tight,And had—just there—that corn.”Andrew G. Tubbs.