Upon a golden day thou came’st to me,
And beautyless were other maidens then,
Nor was it night nor day when near to thee,
But carefree floating through the yielding air.
Oft in the crowd, I’ve seen thee hurry on,
With wistful smile and look so sadly fair,
But when the head was turned, ’twas not the one.
And my sad heart fed on its grief again.
So runs my song. The sea, in other days,
Broke on the shores of time encircled men
And maids, whose hearts, like ours, sang such sad lays.
Are those souls happy there, who here found pain?
I wonder if we’ll ever meet again.
—Norman McLeod.
* * * * *
=Ananias Outdone=
I’d rather drink water than beer;
I’d rather drink milk than champagne,
A “gingerale high” always makes me feel queer,
A “claret cup” gives me a pain;
I’m really a buttermilk fan,
For whisky I don’t care a slam;
Soft drinks are my joy,
I’m so happy! Oh, Boy!!
What a wonderful liar I am.
—By Betty.
* * * * *
=So Touching=
By John Bowen, Jr., S. T. C.
At first she touches up her hair
To see if it’s in place,
And then with manner debonair,
She touches up her face;
A touch of curls behind her ear,
A touch of cuffs and collars
And then she’s off to hubby dear
To touch him for ten dollars.
* * * * *