Her little game. How lovers rash
Got mittens at the spelling school!
How many a mute, inglorious fool
Wrote rhymes and sighed and dyed—mustache!
This hired man loved her long,
Had loved her best and first and last,
Her very garments as she passed
For him had symphony and song.
So when one day with flirt and frown
She called him "Bill," he raised his head.
He caught her eye and faltering said,
"I love you; and my name is Brown."
She fairly waltzed with rage; she wept;
You would have thought the house on fire.
She told her sire, the portly squire,
Then smelt her smelling-salts and slept.
Poor William did what could be done;
He swung a pistol on each hip,
He gathered up a great ox-whip
And drove right for the setting son.
He crossed the big backbone of earth.
He saw the snowy mountains rolled
Like nasty billows; saw the gold
Of great big sunsets; felt the birth
Of sudden dawn upon the plain;
And every night did William Brown
Eat pork and beans and then lie down
And dream sweet dreams of Mary Jane.
Her lovers passed. Wolves hunt in packs.
They sought for bigger game; somehow
They seemed to see about her brow
The forky sign of turkey tracks.
The teeter-board of life goes up,
The teeter-board of life goes down,
The sweetest face must learn to frown;
The biggest dog has been a pup.
O maidens! pluck not at the air;
The sweetest flowers I have found
Grow rather close unto the ground
And highest places are most bare.
