Her hair is a brilliant red, and her voice like a bumblebee's hum, And this lovely young damsel is fed on the choicest of sweet chewing gum. I have met her at church and at fair. How I love her no person can tell, But the terrible hue of her hair has made me feel weary -- ah, well, But how can I justly complain? 'Tis the World with its sorrow and care, And I'm not the first love-struck swain to be cursed with a girl with red hair. I called on her yesterday eve, and sweet were the words that I said. I attempted when taking my leave to light my cigar on her head. Poor damsel she stared and turned red till she looked like a full-blown rose But she murmured, "Don't worry, dear Ned. My hair corresponds to your nose." Then I swore in a still, silent way. That's the way those religious folk swear, For my nose, I am sorry to say, was as brilliantly red as her hair. As I thought of her hair and my nose, and then of my nose and her hair, A stronger emotion arose, and I knelt on my knees then and there. Dear hearers, I didn't propose, and to say what I said is a sin, For I almost immediately rose. Good heavens! I'd knelt on a pin! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LEAVES OF THE TREE HIDE THE SUN by DAVID IGNATOW ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL UPON JULIA'S BREASTS by ROBERT HERRICK THE BLESSED VIRGIN, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: THE BEGINNER by RUDYARD KIPLING MEZZO CAMMIN by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE AGE OF WISDOM by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY NOVEMBER, 1806 by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 4. BALLYTULLAGH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |