  UPON the Kerb, a maiden neat— Her hazel eyes are passing sweet— There stands and waits in dire distress: The muddy road is pitiless, And ’busses thunder down the street! A snowy skirt, all frills and pleat; Two tiny, well-shod, dainty feet Peep out, beneath her kilted dress, 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! J. Ashby-Sterry. |
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