I painted her a gushing thing,

With years about a score;

I little thought to find they were

A least a dozen more;

My fancy gave her eyes of blue,

A curly auburn head:

I came to find the blue a green,

The auburn turned red.


She boxed my ears this morning,

They tingled very much;

I own that I could wish her

A somewhat lighter touch;

And if ask me how

Her charms might be improved,

I would not have them added to,

But just a few removed!


She has the bear’s ethereal grace,

The bland hyaena’s laugh,

The footsteps of the elephant,

The neck of a giraffe;

I love her still, believe me,

Though my heart its passion hides;

“She all my fancy painted her,”

But oh! how much besides!