8 APRIL 1882, Page 15

POETRY.

Nor Aphrodite's perfect face And golden hair, She is dearer unto me Than another e'er could be, And more fair.

"Is she rich, then P" Oh! dear, no, But I have enoughj trow, For us two.

‘" What do I love her for ? " Ah ! well, That I can't exactly tell, But I do.

All my hope of gladness lies In the love-light of her eyes ; The fond kiss Of her tender, rosy lips, Touch of her slender finger-tips, Gives more bliss Than you, cold cynic, e'er could guess. But, still, the reason, you confess, "You can't divine."

Well, I love her, and she loves me ; What better reason can there be