“Oh, what is love?” the poet asks. I guess
I'dst better tell him. When a girl's cheeks seem
As fascinatin’ to you as ice-cream,
And though snub-nosed and freckled, more or less,
She's still the phantom of pure loveliness
That ever and anon athwart your dream
Comes stealin’, whilst you scheme and scheme and scheme
To be where she is, thou‘ rt in love! Oh, yes!
When you keep thinkin’ how you'dst squeeze her hand
If sometime thou couldst be her little glove,
And if thou feelst that thou wouldst like to stand,
With only just the frosty stars above,
In some big snowdrift‘ neath her window and
Stay there forever, then thou art in love!