NOT PERFECT

Her eyes are blue—a lovely hue

Her

For eyes; her cheeks are pink,

And for the cheek, ’twixt me and you,

That color’s right, I think.

Her fingers taper prettily,

Her teeth are white as pearls—

Her hands seem softer far to me

Than any other girl’s.

Her figure’s trim—it is petite—

I like them just that way,

And truly, maiden half so sweet

You’d not find every day.

And yet, alas! she’s not my choice,

This creature of my rhyme—

Because her soft and rich-toned voice

Is going all the time.

A CITY DWELLER’S WISH

I love the leaf of the old oak-tree,

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