So Will, my lad, you beg that I'll
Concoct you a charade;
Well, dear, here goes: My first is first
Your favorite little maid;
The hearts of roses too are it,
And vine-blooms under which I sit;
And childhood's dreams, and sinless thoughts,
And tones attuned to love,
“The uses of adversity,”
The cooings of the dove,
And Lilly's eyes, and Kitty's lips,
And Tommy's‘ lassed finger-tips.
My second was the royal name
Of England's conquering foe.
Who set his foot on Saxon necks
Eight hundred years ago;
The name too of a poet-king,
Who still rules many a land;
No soldier he, but a knightlier soul
Did ne'er shake spear or brand.