It
was a soft and stilly night,
No moon was overhead;
We’d
passed the gay electric light,
And unto her I said:
“Amelia,
dear, I fain would kiss –”
She gave a little cough;
“But
if I drop my handle bars,
Alas! I will fall off.”
And
then this girl, a leader born,
A gem from Nature’s fount;
Brought
to a halt her silent steed,
And quickly cried, “Dismount!”
June
20, ‘97
Camb.
Press,
Oct.
9, ‘97
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