The Rose did caper on her cheek –
Her Bodice rose and fell –
Her pretty speech — like drunken men –
Did stagger pitiful –
Her fingers fumbled at her work –
Her needle would not go –
What ailed so smart a little Maid –
It puzzled me to know –
Till opposite — I spied a cheek
That bore another Rose –
Just opposite — Another speech
That like the Drunkard goes –
A Vest that like her Bodice, danced –
To the immortal tune –
Till those two troubled — little Clocks
Ticked softly into one.
