Ay, ’twas here, on this spot,
In that summer of yore,
Atalanta did not
Vote my presence a bore,
Nor reply to my tenderest talk “She had heard all that nonsense before.”

She’d the brooch I had bought
And the necklace and sash on,
And her heart, as I thought,
Was alive to my passion;
And she’d done up her hair in the style that the Empress had brought
into fashion.

I had been to the play
With my pearl of a Peri ­
But, for all I could say,
She declared she was weary,
That “the place was so crowded and hot, and she couldn’t abide that
Dundreary.”

Then I thought “’Tis for me
That she whines and she whimpers!”
And it soothed me to see
Those sensational simpers,
And I said “This is scrumptious!” ­a phrase I had learned from the
Devonshire shrimpers.

And I vowed “’Twill be said
I’m a fortunate fellow,
When the breakfast is spread,
When the topers are mellow,
When the foam of the bride-cake is white, and the fierce orange-blossoms
are yellow!”

O that languishing yawn! 
O those eloquent eyes! 
I was drunk with the dawn
Of a splendid surmise ­
I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear, by a tempest of sighs.

And I whispered “’Tis time! 
Is not Love at its deepest? 
Shall we squander Life’s prime,
While thou waitest and weepest? 
Let us settle it, License or Banns? ­though undoubtedly Banns are the
cheapest.”

“Ah, my Hero,” said I,
“Let me be thy Leander!”
But I lost her reply ­
Something ending with “gander” ­
For the omnibus rattled so loud that no mortal could quite understand
her.