Page 28 - Poetry-Romance

“Sir, indeed—”
“How dare you in this place
Stare half an hour in my daughter’s face?”
“Sapristi, monsieur! I protest—I swear—
I never looked at her.”
“Indeed! What were
You looking at, then?”
“Sir, I’ll tell you that—
My hat, sir.”
“Morbleu! looking at your hat?”
“Yes, sir, it was my hat.”
My color rose:
He angered me, this man who would suppose
I thought of nothing but his girl.
Meantime
The black coat maundered on in dreary rhyme.
Papa and I, getting more angry ever,
Exchanged fierce glances, speaking both together.
While no one round us knew what we were at.
“It was my daughter, sir.”
“No, sir—my hat.”
“Speak lower, gentlemen,” said some one near.
“You’ll give account for this, sir. Do you hear?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Then before the world’s astir
You’ll get my card, sir.”
“I’ll be ready, sir.”

A pretty quarrel! Don’t you think it so?
A moment after, all exclaimed, “Bravo!”
Black coat had finished. All the audience made
A general move toward ice and lemonade.
The coast was clear; my way was open now;
My hat was mine. I made my foe a bow,
And hastened, fast as lover could have moved,
Through trailing trains, toward the dear thing I loved.
I tried to reach it.
“Here’s the hat, I think,
You are in search of.”
Shapely, soft, and pink,
A lovely arm, a perfect arm, held out
My precious hat. Impelled by sudden doubt,

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