Push the bottle around, tom.
305
And to see the sweet bloom on the lip, Tom,
And the pleasant light in the eye,
Take flight with the years as they slip, Tom,
So noiselessly, rapidly by.
And the pleasant light in the eye,
Take flight with the years as they slip, Tom,
So noiselessly, rapidly by.
There's a deepening line on your brow, Tom,
There's one at the side of your nose,
And a touch of the rebel snow, Tom,
Much thicker than you may suppose.
There's a graceless rotund in your hack, Tom,
There's a wintriness, too, on your cheek,
And your voice has a kind of a crack, Tom,
Whether you sing or you speak.
There's one at the side of your nose,
And a touch of the rebel snow, Tom,
Much thicker than you may suppose.
There's a graceless rotund in your hack, Tom,
There's a wintriness, too, on your cheek,
And your voice has a kind of a crack, Tom,
Whether you sing or you speak.
'Tis a terrible thing to be slighted, Tom,
'Tis a terrible thing to know
That though you may still be invited, Tom,
You're no longer asked as a beau.
To be sentenced to talk with papa, Tom,
Though longing the while to take wing,
And to feel that the kindest mamma, Tom,
Considers you not just—"the thing."
'Tis a terrible thing to know
That though you may still be invited, Tom,
You're no longer asked as a beau.
To be sentenced to talk with papa, Tom,
Though longing the while to take wing,
And to feel that the kindest mamma, Tom,
Considers you not just—"the thing."
