S HE was five, or six, he four years old,

When they met on the Margate Sands,

And he gravely looked in her great blue eyes

With hold of her little fat hands,

And he said, "I love oo well Rosie;

I know, dat I'd rather have oo,

Dan all de lickel girls on de sands to-day,

Iss, even dan de girl in blue!"

"I'm glad oo do; and I love oo too!"

Thro' a heaven of golden hair,

Like silvery bells, was her sweet response,

On the ozoned rose lit air,

And then with his bucket, and spade, he built

For his love, on the sand, that day,

A castle, and pie, till the tide came in,

And washed his castle away.

In many a year thereafter 'twas,

In a box in Drury Lane,

Said a gent, as he used his opera glass,

"Yon lady's remarkably plain!"

And the lady exclaimed, at the self-same time,

When she saw his glass in hand,

"What an ugly fright!" they did not know,

They had loved, on the Margate sand!