I'm writing to you, dear, to-day Because I have so much to say That won't keep till to-morrow. But first, I want to whisper this— I send you back that foolish kiss You gave, or did I borrow? You naughty boy! I'm quite ashamed To even have the subject named, Excepting in a letter. You must come up to-morrow night; I think that then, perhaps, I might Explain the matter better. Dear boy, you know I miss you so, Because—you surely ought to know The reason why; now, don't you? And when you come, bring up some creams— When were the last? How long it seems! You 'll bring them surely, won't you? You ought to see my "latest" gown; And, by the way, that play's in town! The horrid one; I'm dying To see the thing—it 's quite the rage. I know you just abhor the stage; But, you 're so self-denying! Now, don't forget, you dear old thing, To bring the tickets—and, oh, bring That latest photograph of you— It looks so handsome and so fine! Perhaps I 'll give you one of mine; Would one of those "back numbers" do? |