Down the broad stairs,

Stranger to cares,

My love comes tripping and smiling and free;

The snows on her breast

Are a blush unconfessed.

I wonder what fate has in waiting for me?

My heart seems to throb

Like a broken-paced cob;

I fear I'm a coward in love, as they say.

She's commencing to laugh;

How the fellows will chaff.

By Jove, I'm not going to ask her to-day.