Classic Poem

All ardors of the flaming dawn are thine,
Its glamours blended in thy glowing hair!
And sunset winds within thy blowing hair
Have twined and woven all the sunset's shine!
And all the quick and kindling heart of wine
And heat of wit are in thy flowing hair. . . .
Suzanne, be sure you keep that growing hair: —
If you turn bald you never can be mine!

M Y Ninth Wife used peroxide on her bean ...
She had bad luck; it turned her wig bright green ...
I took a club and chased the girl away,
Although the poor thing pleaded hard to stay. . . .
Suzanne, I hope you'll never make a scene.
They grieve one later, Sue. Ah, welladay!