Over Her Glass

O, Hilda is fair as the blush of the morn,

     Her lips are as red as red wine;

And the light in her eyes when she’s filled with surprise,

     Is a gleam that approaches divine.

I like to watch Hilda when sipping her tea,

     She’s such a bright, cheerisome lass;

I like her the best when she’s drinking with zest

     And looks at me over her glass.

Her eyes are like stars that dance in the night,

     And look through the veil of my soul;

They give me a thrill, and she knows that they will,

     And a hunger I cannot control.

She sits and she sips all unconscious ‘twould seem,

     Of the harm she is causing, alas!

All the blood in my veins seems to deluge my brains

     When she looks at me over her glass.

O, Hilda is young and exceedingly fair,

     And knows not a care of the day;

And whenever we dine her laughter, like wine,

     Seems to drive all my burdens away.

I like her wherever she chances to be,

     She’s a winsome and lovable lass,

But I like her the best, when her fair lips are prest

     And she looks at me over her glass.

    

Oct. 29, ‘10