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.