PAINT Anastasia as a saint; Priscilla as a Puritan, Holding long lily stalks; but paint Dear Dolly with a fan! It is a page wherefrom we read Each word she has to say; Learn who may come, and who must speed, And who may near her stay. It is a wall as stout as stone, Where sweet and cold of face, When in the mood she sits alone Behind its frill of lace. 'Tis covered thick with blossoms small, Red-tinted like the morn; And he who'd dare to scale that wall Would find each rose a thorn. Ah, Dolly, Dolly! we confess, Amongst us all there's not a man, But knows he's loved a little less Than your quaint silken fan! |