| I TAKE my chaperon to the play— | |
| She thinks she 's taking me. | |
| And the gilded youth who owns the box, | |
| A proud young man is he— | |
| But how would his young heart be hurt | 5 |
| If he could only know | |
| That not for his sweet sake I go | |
| Nor yet to see the trifling show; | |
| But to see my chaperon flirt. | |
| |
| Her eyes beneath her snowy hair | 10 |
| They sparkle young as mine; | |
| There 's scarce a wrinkle in her hand | |
| So delicate and fine. | |
| And when my chaperon is seen, | |
| They come from everywhere— | 15 |
| The dear old boys with silvery hair, | |
| With old-time grace and old-time air, | |
| To greet their old-time queen. | |
| |
| They bow as my young Midas here | |
| Will never learn to bow | 20 |
| (The dancing-masters do not teach | |
| That gracious reverence now); | |
| With voices quavering just a bit, | |
| They play their old parts through, | |
| They talk of folk who used to woo, | 25 |
| Of hearts that broke in 'fifty-two— | |
| Now none the worse for it. | |
| |
| And as those aged crickets chirp | |
| I watch my chaperon's face, | |
| And see the dear old features take | 30 |
| A new and tender grace— | |
| And in her happy eyes I see | |
| Her youth awakening bright, | |
| With all its hope, desire, delight— | |
| Ah, me! I wish that I were quite | 35 |
| As young—as young as she! | |
