How can one tire in solitudes and nooks,
Graced by the steps, enlightened by the looks,
Of the most piquant of Princesses,
With little darling foot, and long dark tresses?
A turn-up nose too, between you and me,
Has something that attracts me mightily.
My loving days, I must confess, are over,
A fact it does me honour to discover;
Though, I suppose, whether I love or not,
That brute, the public, will not care a jot:—
The dev'l a bit will their hard hearts look to it.
But should it happen, some fine day,
That anything should lead me round that way
A long and beaky nose will certainly not do it.