Down the broad stairs,
Stranger to cares,
My love comes tripping and smiling and free;
The snows on her breast
Are a blush unconfessed.
I wonder what fate has in waiting for me?
My heart seems to throb
Like a broken-paced cob;
I fear I'm a coward in love, as they say.
She's commencing to laugh;
How the fellows will chaff.
By Jove, I'm not going to ask her to-day.