The Language Of Love.

        Oh! he was a student of mystic lore;
            And she was a soulful girl
        All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind
            The paragon, pride, and pearl.

        They loved with a neo-Concordic love,
            Woofed weirdly with wistful woe.
        They sat in a glen, remote from men,
            Their converse was high and low.

        "What marvellous words of marvellous love,
            Speak marvellous souls like these?"
        I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh
            Was heard with the greatest ease.

        "'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he;
            "'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?"
        "'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?"
            "No'p! tause 'ittle lammy'd die too."

        How truthful we poets! The "language of Love"
            Is a phrase we employ full oft;
        But whenever we do, we prefix thereto,
            You've noticed, the adjective "soft."