The Language Of Love.

Oh! he was a student of mystic lore;                 And she was a soulful girl             All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind                 The paragon, pride, and pearl.             They loved with a neo-Concordic love,                 Woofed weirdly with wistful woe.             They sat in a glen, remote from men,                 Their converse was high and low.             "What marvellous words of marvellous love,                 Speak marvellous souls like these?"             I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh                 Was heard with the greatest ease.             "'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he;                 "'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?"             "'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?"                 "No'p! tause 'ittle lammy'd die too."             How truthful we poets! The "language of Love"                 Is a phrase we employ full oft;             But whenever we do, we prefix thereto,                 You've noticed, the adjective "soft."