At The Party

Mary Eliza Ireland

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gave her a rose, so sweet, so fair;
She picked it to pieces while standing there.

I praised the deep blue of her starry eyes;
She turned them upon me in cold surprise.

Her white hand I kissed in a transport of love;
My kiss she effaced with her snowy glove.

I touched a soft ringlet of golden brown;
She rebuked my daring with a haughty frown.

I asked her to dance in most penitent tone;
On the arm of a rival she left me alone.

This gave me a hint; I veered from my track,
And waltzed with an heiress, to win my love back.

I carried her fan, and indulged in a sigh,
And whispered sweet nothings when my loved one was nigh.

It worked like a charm; oh, joy of my life!
This stratagem wins me a sweet little wife.

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