MY LIFE IS A —

At Worthing an exile from Geraldine G —,

How aimless, how wretched an exile is he!

Promenades are not even prunella and leather

To lovers, if lovers can’ t foot them together.

He flies the parade, sad by ocean he stands,

He traces a “Geraldine G” on the sands.

But a G, tho’ her lov’ d patronymic is Green,

“I will not betray thee, my own Geraldine.”

The fortunes of men have a time and a tide,

And Fate, the old fury, will not be denied;

That name was, of course, soon wip’ d out by the sea,—

And she jilted the exile, did Geraldine G —.

They meet, but they never have spoken since that,—

He hopes she is happy — he knows she is fat;

She woo’ d on the shore, now is wed in the Strand,

And I — it was I wrote her name on the sand!