I found at length her splendid hand
(Of shapely fingers) most annoying.
When next I'm playing, I confess
I'd like a girl (and may I get her!)
Who shows her hands a little less,
And plays her cards a little better.
* * * * *
A LAY OF LONDON.
[Illustration]
Oh, London is a pleasant place to live the whole year through,
I love it 'neath November's pall, or Summer's rarest blue,
When leafy planes to city courts still tell the tale of June,
Or when the homely fog brings out the lamplighter at noon.
I thought to go away this year, and yet in town I am.
I have not been to Hampstead Heath, much less to Amsterdam;
And now December's here again I do not feel the loss,
Though all the summer I've not been four miles from Charing Cross.
'Twas pleasant in the office when we'd gather in a bunch,
A social, dreamy sort of day, with lots of time for lunch.
How commerce flagged September through, at 90, Pinching Lane,
Till bronzed and bluff the chief returned, and trade revived again.
Why talk of Andalusia's bulls, of Rocky-Mountain bears,
Of Tyrolean alpenstocks--though not of Alpen shares;
Of seaside haunts where fashion drives with coronetted panels,
Or briny nooks, when all you need is pipes, and books, and flannels.
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