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We studied hard in our styles,
Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos, For air, looked out on the tiles,
For fun, watched each other's windows.
You lounged, like a boy of the South,
Cap and blouse—nay, a bit of beard too; Or you got it, rubbing your mouth
With fingers the clay adhered to.
And I-soon managed to find
Weak points in the flower-fence facing, Was forced to put up a blind
And be safe in my corset-lacing.
No harm! It was not my fault
If you never turned your eye's tail up As I shook upon E in alt.,
Or ran the chromatic scale up:
For spring bade the sparrows pair,
And the boys and girls gave guesses, And stalls in our street looked rare
With bulrush and watercresses.
Why did not you pinch a flower
In a pellet of clay and fling it? Why did not I put a power
Of thanks in a look, or sing it?
I did look, sharp as a lynx,
(And yet the memory rankles) When models arrived, some minx
Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles.
But I think I gave you as good !
“ That foreign fellow,—who can know “ How she pays, in a playful mood,
“For his tuning her that piano?"
Could you say so,
and never say “Suppose we join hands and fortunes, “ And I fetch her from over the way,
Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes ?”
No, no : you would not be rash,
Nor I rasher and something over : You've to settle yet Gibson's hash,
And Grisi yet lives in clover.
But you meet the Prince at the Board,
I 'm queen myself at bals-paré, I 've married a rich old lord,
Anel you 're dubbed knight and an R.A.
Each life 's unfulfilled, you see ;
It hangs still, patchy and scrappy : We have not sighed deep, laughed free,
Starved, feasted, despaired,—been happy.
And nobody calls you a dunce,
And people suppose me clever : This could but have happened once,
And we missed it, lost it for ever.
THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS.
You're my friend :
Ours is a great wild country :
I was born the day this present Duke was-