Upon the kerb a maiden neat—

Her watchet eyes are passing sweet—

There stands and waits in dire distress:

The muddy road is pitiless,

And 'buses thunder down the street!

A snowy skirt, all frill and pleat;

Two tiny, well-shod, dainty feet

Peep out, beneath her kilted dress,

Upon the kerb!

She'll first advance and then retreat,

Half frightened by a hansom fleet.

She looks around, I must confess,

With marvellous coquettishness!—

Then droops her eyes and looks discreet,

Upon the kerb!