Theft.

    The moonlight steals around the pine;
    Star-eyes steal radiance from thine.

    Low music steals upon the ear;
    Can there be theft when thou art near?

    I steel my heart for fear of this,—­
    I steel my heart and steal a kiss.

    I’d steal the sacramental wine
    If it were sweet as kiss of thine!

Before her Mirror.

    I pause before her mirror and reflect
      (That’s what the mirror does, I take it, too);
    Reflect how little it has known neglect,
      And think, “O mirror, would that I were you.”

    She has no secrets that you do not know,
      You and yon crescent box of poudre de rose. 
    And even these long curling irons can show
      Much evidence of use, yet naught disclose.

    Here, when she smiles, you know it is her teeth
      She’s putting to the test ere she depart
    For the gay revel on the lawn beneath,
      Or moonlight ramble that may break a heart.

    Here she may blush, until she, red as wine,
      Knows that her triumphs have not ceased to be. 
    Here, when she frowns, and looks still more divine,
      You know, wise mirror, that she thinks of me.

At Old Point Comfort.

    You don’t think of dresses, or ducats, or dukes;
    You don’t care for chaperone’s rigid rebukes;
      It’s just simply grand,
      To lie there on the sand,
        Down at the beach,—­
        If a man’s within reach.

    Some like the moonlight and some like the sun,
    Some flirt in earnest and some flirt in fun;
      It’s worth all the rash,
      Reckless spending of cash,
      All the dresses you spoil,
      All the tempers you roil,
        Down at the beach,—­
        If a man’s within reach.

    It’s better than sleigh-rides, cotillons, or teas,
    It makes the dull Patriarch’s knickerbocked knees
      Shake in the dance,
      And then one has a chance,
      If one’s pretty and smart,
      With a tongue not too tart,
      Of presenting papaw
      With a new son-in-law,
        Down at the beach,—­
        If a man’s within reach.

A Drop Too Much.

    I praised her hair, I praised her lips,
      She looked up with surprise;
    I bowed to kiss her finger-tips,
      And then she dropped her eyes.

    I said love ruled the world; that I
      Adored her; called her “Nan.” 
    She merely looked a little shy,
      And then she dropped her fan.

    I took the hint, and at her feet
      I knelt—­yes, quite absurd;
    But oh, my fond heart wildly beat
      To hear her drop a word.

    I told her all:  my talents few,
      My direful lack of pelf. 
    (We all have erred.) She said “Adieu,”
      And then dropped me myself.