Capriciousness

F. T. Cooper, in “The Harvard Lampoon”

DURING a pause from a breathless dance,

Somewhat withdrawn from mama’s keen glance,

Out of the ballroom’s fatiguing glare,

In safe seclusion and cooler air,

Curtained from view by the window-lace,

Stands a sweet vision of girlish grace—

Fluttering drapery of gauzy white—

Eyes like the depths of a summer night;

Four hands confusingly interlaced,

Protective coat sleeve around her waist,

Glance so alluring and smile so rash,

Threatening approach of a bold mustache;

Wilfully tossing her dainty head,

“Some one is looking this way,” she said.

Slipping mischievously out of reach,

Yet half repenting her wilful speech;

Watching results with a vague alarm,

Wholly released from his willing arm;

Looking as shy as a sweet wild rose,

With the soft color that comes and goes;

And dainty fingers, set free, now fain

To be close prisoners o’er again,

Turning half nervously in and out;

Ruby lips arched to a tempting pout,

Secretly longing to say enough

To make amends for the late rebuff—

Penitently, and with drooping head,

“No one is looking just now,” she said.