  (From the Mandarin) MY sweetheart has her faults in plenty, Which I perceive with much distress; For instance, she is only twenty, And one would think her even less; While I may mention it between us— (Excuse the confidence betrayed)— Her form is plagiarized from Venus, And no acknowledgment is made. Her hair is much too fine and curly; Her lips are merely Cupid’s bow; Her teeth absurdly white and pearly; But still we all have faults, you know. So, spite of this and spite of that, Whate’er betide, whate’er befall, These things let others cavil at; I love my sweetheart, faults and all. From such defects this little lady Of mine is anything but free. Her lashes are “extremely shady,” Her eyes are “much too deep for me.” Two dimples have been thought too many Her rivals wish she hadn’t any; But what’s a dimple more or less? Her voice attracts o’er much attention Because of its melodious ring. Her foot—but that I shall not mention— It’s such a very little thing. Yes, spite of that and spite of this, Whate’er betide, whate’er befall, Though others may perfection miss, I love my sweetheart, faults and all. Harry B. Smith. |
|
