But I love that quaint attire.
(Tildy wore it in the choir.)

How we sang--for _I_ was there,
Occupied a singer's chair
Next to--well, no prouder man
Ever lifts the bass, nor can,
Sometimes held the self-same book,
(How my nervous fingers shook!)
Sometimes--wretch--while still the air
Echoed to the parson's prayer,
I would whisper in her ear
What she could not help but hear.
Once, I told her my desire.
(Tildy promised in the choir.)

Well, those days are past, and now
Come gray hairs, and yet somehow
I can't think those years have fled--
Still those roadways know my tread,
Still I climb that old pine stair,
Sit upon the stiff-backed chair,
Stealing glances toward my left
Till her eyes repay the theft;
Death's a dream and Time's a liar--
Tildy still is in the choir.

Come, Matilda number two,
_Fin de siècle _maiden you!
Wonder if you'd like to see