Classic Poem

A debutante was sitting in the parlour of her flat;
A brave young man upon her he was calling.
They talked about the weather and the war and things like that,
As couples will, for conversation stalling.
The talk it all went merry quite until the young man said:
" Last night I dreamed that you had gone away — — "
The debutante put up her hand and stopped the young man dead,
And softly unto him these words did say:

CHORUS

" Don't tell me what you dreamt last night, I must not hear you speak!
For it might bring a crimson blush unto my maiden cheek.
If I were you, that subject is a thing that I'd avoid —
Don't tell me what you dreamt last night, for I've been reading Freud. "

A loving husband sat one morn at breakfast with his wife,
And said to her: " Oh, Minnie, pass the cream.
Last night I dreamed that Fritzi Scheff pursued me with a knife,
And though I tried, I couldn't even scream. "
His little wife put up her hand, and said: " Oh, pray desist!
To tell the rest of it might break my heart.
That dream, I fear, is plain to any psychoanalyst. "
And then she softly wept, and said, in part:

CHORUS

" Don't tell me what you dreamt last night, " etc.