He meets her twice or thrice a year, Sometimes less and sometimes more, Each time they meet the stage is set Exactly as the time before. He is most glossy and most gay, Witty, omniscient, and bland, She is inscrutable and mild, She lets him play his hand. And if his pyrotechnics pale A little on her moonlit sky He scarcely knows that it is so, And only vaguely wonders why. And if he finds her eyes too wide, A shade too deep, a shade too cool, She lets him wonder which she is, A saint, a sinner, or a fool. |