THE APRIL-FACE

All up the street at a stately pace

The maiden passed with her April-face,

And the roses I‘ d paid for, on her breast

Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest,

While behind her — driver upon his stool —

Tinkled the bell of the street-car mule.

“Going to walk up the street?” I said;

She graciously bowed her beautiful head.

“Then I‘ ll walk, too;‘ t is a lovely day.” —

Thus I opened the ball in my usual way.

“Do you see the car anywhere?” inquired

The April-face, “I‘ m a trifle tired.”

I urged a walk;‘ twas a useless suit!

She wildly waved her parachute;

The stub-tailed mule stopped quick enow;

I handed her in with a stately bow;

And the bell rang out with a jangled quirk,

As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk.

Three men as she entered solemnly rose,

And quietly trampled their neighbors’ toes;

A dudish masher left his place,

And edged near the girl with the April-face,

Who sat on the side you‘ d call “the lee,”

( With the same sweet smile she‘ d sat on me ).

The day it was lovely; mild the air;

The sky, like the maiden's face, was fair;

The car was full, and a trifle stale

( Attached to the mule with the stubbly tail );

Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired,

To the stroll with me; for I made her tired.

And now when the maiden walks the street

With another's flowers, and smile so sweet,

I wave to the driver upon his stool,

And stop the stub-tailed street-car mule,

While I purchase a seat with half my pelf;

For it makes me a trifle tired myself.