Classic Poem

Iris , amidst the fern,
Beside a tender lover,
Said, looking very stern,
And colouring all over,
" Where's that respect, Sir, pray? that niceness, Sir,
Which marks a lover's proper character?"


" Why," replied he, " 'twixt you and me.
Moments there are, my dove,
When lovers think, that it might be
As well to be in love."