THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE.

Oh! he was a student of mystic lore;

And she was a soulful girl

All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind

The paragon, pride, and pearl.

They loved with a neo-Concordic love,

Woofed weirdly with wistful woe.

They sat in a glen, remote from men,

Their converse was high and low.

“What marvellous words of marvellous love,

Speak marvellous souls like these?”

I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh

Was heard with the greatest ease.

“‘ Oo's‘ ittle white lammy is‘ oo?” breathed he;

“‘ Oors.‘ Oo's lovey-dovey is‘ oo?”

“‘ Oors!‘ Oors! Would‘ oo k'y if dovey should die?”

“No'p!— tause‘ ittle lammy'd die too.”

How truthful we poets! The “language of Love”

Is a phrase we employ full oft;

But whenever we do, we prefix thereto,

You've noticed, the adjective “soft.”