There was a lad as cold ice; He was my lover -- twice. (Don't ask me more; it isn't nice.) Cruel cold, or I wouldn't be Counting them up now. Listen to me. There was a fellow once -- I hoped . . . He and another girl eloped. A certain lad had let me think: He went away and took a drink. Then came a poet suave as oil -- But I was much too giddy to spoil. There was a man with a bold black beard, But he was nothing to be feared. . . . Yet there have been, and there will be, One or two or even three Could make a wanton girl of me: (A wanton girl is hard to find When so many men are dull or blind, Or take a drink, or change their mind. . . .) |