Fuess and Stearns, comps. The Little Book of Society Verse. 1922.
By. William Wetmore StorySnowdrop
W
I clasp you in my fond embrace,
You gently push me back and say,
“Take care, my dear, you’ll spoil my lace.”
Some woman friend you chanced to see;
You call me “dearest.”—All love’s forms
Are yours, not its reality.
Do anything with passion in it!
Hate me an hour, and then turn round
And love me truly, just one minute.