The Philanderer

Oh, have you forgotten those afternoons

With riot of roses and amber skies,

When we thrilled to the joy of a million Junes,

And I sought for your soul in the deeps of your eyes?

I would love you, I promised, forever and aye,

And I meant it too; yet, oh, isn't it odd?

When we met in the Underground to-day

I addressed you as Mary instead of as Maude.

Oh, don't you remember that moonlit sea,

With us on a silver trail afloat,

When I gracefully sank on my bended knee

At the risk of upsetting our little boat?

Oh, I vowed that my life was blighted then,

As friendship you proffered with mournful mien;

But now as I think of your children ten,

I'm glad you refused me, Evangeline.

Oh, is that moment eternal still

When I breathed my love in your shell-like ear,

And you plucked at your fan as a maiden will,

And you blushed so charmingly, Guenivere?

Like a worshiper at your feet I sat;

For a year and a day you made me mad;

But now, alas! you are forty, fat,

And I think: What a lucky escape I had!

Oh, maidens I've set in a sacred shrine,

Oh, Rosamond, Molly and Mignonette,

I've deemed you in turn the most divine,

In turn you've broken my heart . . . and yet

It's easily mended. What's past is past.

To-day on Lucy I'm going to call;

For I'm sure that I know true love at last,

And She is the fairest girl of all.