Yes , I grant you, she is pretty, with the pink of early morn,
Pretty as the palest rose-leaf ever blushed above a thorn;
And her backward look is saucy, and the quick toss of her head —
Well, a boy likes chasing better if the colt be thoroughbred.

And her mouth — 't was made for smiling, winning you against your will
With its Cupid's bow and dainty teeth, like young cadets a-dril,
And the careless pagan laughter, such as by the river's brink
Charmed Apollo in his Daphne as 't were some delicious drink.

Yes, I own my heart does answer to the blitheness of her call.
Still, there's something that is wanting in our Daphne, after all.
I, who hold no woman perfect sans a spice of the coquette,
Find a curving eyelash lovelier that it sometimes should be wet.

And they say the way is weary for the man that follows whim
Till the brilliance of the little lawless graces shall grow dim;
And the girl's piquant surprises may be tedious in the wife,
And the pin-pricks of the sapling toughen to the goads of life.

Then, my boy, beware of Daphne. Learn a lesson from the rat:
What is cunning in the kitten may be cruel in the cat.
In the game of life the trump is, not the spade of crafty art,
Power's club, or riches' diamond, but, believe me, boy, Love's heart.