Er—Dear, and all that sort of rot, I'm fairly hipped about you. I mean to say that though I've got Along, so far, without you, You've bowled me over, knocked me flat, The good old heart is skipping. In fact I think you'll gather that I think you're simply ripping! Your form, your eyes, your lips, your hair Are—er—top hole. Yes, quite so. I mean to say you have an air That's bally well all right; so If you should care for me, old thing, I'd chuck the melancholy, And like some silly bird I'd sing And be distinctly jolly. What say? Let's toddle up the aisle And face the good old altar. I'm somewhat on the faithful style That doesn't funk or falter. I have the oof to pay the rent For some—er—sylvan cot; Right ho? Good Egg. We'll be content In jolly bliss. Eh, what? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE; OR, THE EMIGRANT'S ADIEU TO HIS BIRTHPLACE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 31 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE GIRL OF ALL PERIODS; AN IDYLL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE ON A CURATE'S COMPLAINT OF HARD DUTY by JONATHAN SWIFT MARE LIBERUM by HENRY VAN DYKE DEATH by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 25 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |