When I was ten and you were eight,
Two years between us stood,
We used to meet by daddy's gate--
A stolen kiss was good.
When I was twenty--quite a boy,
You still were my heart's queen,
But grown of kissing somewhat coy;
You see, you were sixteen!
When I was thirty, bronzed and tall,
With sweethearts, too, in plenty,
I met you at the Wilsons' ball--
You told me you were twenty.
I'm forty now, a little more--
Oh, Time, you ruthless bandit!
But you--you're only twenty-four;
I cannot understand it!
_Pearson's Weekly._