Classic Poem

Golden hair and eyes of blue,
What won't they do, what won't they do?
The gaitered foot, the taper waist—
Be not in haste, be not in haste;
Before your chin grows twenty spear,
My word for 't, youngster, they 'll appear.

Raven hair and eyes of night
Undo the boys (it serves 'em right);
The drooping curl, the downward glance,
They are only waiting for the chance;
They have not failed this thousand year,
Right in the nick, lad, they 'll appear.

Shapely hands and arms of snow,
There 's nothing like them here below;
The cheeks that blush, the lips that smile—
A little while, a little while—
Tease out the sprout, sir, never fear,
Before you know it they 'll be here.

Hands, and hair, and lips, and eyes,
In these the tyro's danger lies;
A touch, a tress, a glance, a sigh,
And then, my boy, good-by—good-by!
God help you, youngster! keep good cheer;
Coax on your chin to twenty spear.