Z is the Zebra, of course!--
A kind of a clown-of-a-horse,--
Each other despising,
Yet neither devising
A way to obtain a divorce!
& here is the famous--what-is-it?
Walk up, Master Billy, and quiz it:
You've seen the _rest_ of 'em--
Ain't this the _best_ of 'em,
Right at the end of your visit?
At last Billy is sent off to bed. It is the prudent mandate of the old
folks: But so lothfully the poor child goes, Bob's heart goes,
too.--Yes, Bob himself, to keep the little fellow company awhile, and,
up there under the old rafters, in the pleasant gloom, lull him to
famous dreams with fairy tales. And it is during this brief absence
that the youngest Mills girl gives us a surprise. She will read a
poem, she says, written by a very dear friend of hers who, fortunately
for us, is not present to prevent her. We guard door and window as she
reads. Doc says she will not listen; but she does listen, and cries,
too--out of pure vexation, she asserts. The rest of us, however, cry
just because of the apparent honesty of the poem of--
BEAUTIFUL HANDS.
O your hands--they are strangely fair!
Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,--
Fair--for the witchery of the spell
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches rest
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!
Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the strands
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine,
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the soul,
And fetter the heart under such a control
As only the strength of my love understands--
My passionate love for your beautiful hands.
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