40
He looked as he does when he's writing verse,Or endeavouring not to swear and curse,Or wondering where he has left his purse:Indeed it was a sombre ride.
I spoke of the weather to Mr B.:But he neither listened nor spoke to me:I praised his horse, and I smiled the smileWhich was wont to move him once on a while;I said I was wearing his favourite flowers:But I wasted my words on the desert air,For he rode with a fixed and gloomy stare:I wonder what he was thinking about:As I don't read verse, I shan't find out:It was something subtle and deep, no doubt,A theme to detain a man for hours.
Ah! there was the corner where Mr S.So nearly induced me to whisper "yes":And here it was that the next but oneProposed on horseback, or would have done,Had his horse not most opportunely shied;Which perhaps was due to the unseen flickHe received from my whip: 'twas a scurvy trick,But I never could do with that young man:I hope his present young woman can.Well, I must say, never, since time began,Did I go for a duller or longer ride.
He never smiles and he never speaks:He might go on like this for weeks:
