Classic Poem

Oh! dainty little cousin May,
I hear your girlish laughter gay
Each time I near the wide stairway,
Each time I leave the dance.
You little witch, how well I know
The deadly dagger you can throw,
You meet your unprotected foe
With laughter as your lance.

The music murmurs through the rooms
And throbs atween the rich perfumes
That drift from lips of summer blooms,
But sweeter than the flute,
And clearer than the clarionet,
I hear your merry voice, my pet.
Oh! roguish May, where did you get
The laughter of the lute?

I know quite well you're sitting where
The light is shaded from the stair,
For seven dances you've been there
With some poor college boy,
I know so well your feathered fan
Is resting near your mouth, a plan
You always have to tease a man,
The thing you most enjoy.

I know your eyes of melting grey
Are not too often turned his way,
Nor have you very much to say,
But oh, you scamp, you're playing
The very deuce with that poor chap
For whom you never cared a rap,
Unless it was to test the trap
Of coquetry you're laying.

Ah! coz—demoniac divine,
The boy must go—this dance is mine,
I see your eyes with radiance shine
The while I rescue him
From out the toils he's sure to rue,
For now that I'm alone with you
I know you're loyal, staunch and true
In heart to Cousin Jim.