Her Christian name is Violet;
Her eyes are blue as summer skies;
She loves to smoke a cigarette.
As calm as babe in bassinette,
She swingeth in the summer breeze,
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.
She ponders o'er a novelette;
Her parasol is Japanese;
She loves to smoke a cigarette.
She loves a fume without a fret;
Her frills are white, her frock _cerise_,--
A pretty, pouting, piquant pet.
She almost goes to sleep, and yet,
Half-lulled by booming honey-bees,
She loves to smoke a cigarette.
A winsome, clever, cool coquette,
Who flouts all Grundian decrees,--
pretty, pouting, piquant pet,
That loves to smoke a cigarette.
_Harper's Bazaar_.
IT MAY BE WEEDS.
It may be weeds
I've gathered too;
But even weeds may be
As fragrant as
The fairest flower
With some sweet memory.
ANON.
SEASONABLE SWEETS.
"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS.
When the year is young, what sweets are flung
By the violets, hiding, dim,
And the lilac that sways her censers high,
Whilst the skylark chants a hymn!
How sweet is the scent of the daffodil bloom,
When blithe spring decks each spray,
And the flowering thorn sheds rare perfume
Through the beautiful month of May!
What a dainty pet is the mignonette,
Whose sweets wide scattered are!
But sweeter to me than all these yet
Is the scent of a prime cigar!
Delicious airs waft the fields of June,
When the beans are all in flower;
The woodruff is fragrant in the hedge,
And the woodbine in the bower.
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