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ROBIN HERRICK IN EIGHTS WEEK.
When in a punt my Julia goes
She wields the pole and chastely shows
Her dainty ankles—I repose.
And as she poles she smiling thinks
"I'm glad I wore the silk ones—pink's
My colour"—O the crafty minx!
I, meditating on her charms,
Her supple grace, her bare brown arms . . .
Suddenly, smitten with alarms
I feel a scratch. O where are we?
Under the spiky hawthorn tree,
Whither her punting taketh me!
