I woo'd a woman once,
But she was sharper than an eastern wind.
Tennyson"What may I do to make you glad,
To make you glad and free,
Till your light smiles
And your bright eyes
Like sunbeams on the sea?
Read some rhyme that is blithe and
Of a bright May morn and a marriage day?"And she sighed in a listless way she had,—"Do not read—it will make me sad!""What shall I do to make you glad—To make you glad and gay,
Till your eyes gleam
As the stars at
When as light as the light of
Sing some song as I twang the
Of my sweet guitar through its wanderings?"And she sighed in the weary way she had,—"Do not sing—it will make me sad!""What can I do to make you glad—As glad as glad can be,
Till your clear eyes
Like the rays that
And glint through a dew-decked tree?—Will it please you, dear, that I now beginA grand old air on my violin?"And she spoke again in the following way,—"Yes, oh yes, it would please me, sir;
I would be so glad you'd
Some grand old march—in character,—And then as you march awayI will no longer thus be sad,
But oh, so glad—so glad—so glad!"
