The Philanderer

Oh, have you forgotten those afternoons      With riot of roses and amber skies,      When we thrilled to the joy of a million Junes,      And I sought for your soul in the deeps of your eyes?      I would love you, I promised, forever and aye,      And I meant it too; yet, oh, isn't it odd?      When we met in the Underground to-day      I addressed you as Mary instead of as Maude.      Oh, don't you remember that moonlit sea,      With us on a silver trail afloat,      When I gracefully sank on my bended knee      At the risk of upsetting our little boat?      Oh, I vowed that my life was blighted then,      As friendship you proffered with mournful mien;      But now as I think of your children ten,      I'm glad you refused me, Evangeline.      Oh, is that moment eternal still      When I breathed my love in your shell-like ear,      And you plucked at your fan as a maiden will,      And you blushed so charmingly, Guenivere?      Like a worshiper at your feet I sat;      For a year and a day you made me mad;      But now, alas! you are forty, fat,      And I think: What a lucky escape I had!      Oh, maidens I've set in a sacred shrine,      Oh, Rosamond, Molly and Mignonette,      I've deemed you in turn the most divine,      In turn you've broken my heart . . . and yet      It's easily mended. What's past is past.      To-day on Lucy I'm going to call;      For I'm sure that I know true love at last,      And She is the fairest girl of all.