Of victory. I hear again the croon
Of twilight time, the lullaby that soon
To all the day's glad music shall have swelled.
I hold a hand I never held before,
A hand like which I'll never hold some more.
It was the first time I had ever "called."
'Twas at the club, as we began to leave.
I held five aces, but the dealer balled
The ones that he had planted up his sleeve.


YOUR CHEEK

To feel your hands stray shyly to my head
And flutter down like birds that find their nest,
To see the gentle rise and fall of your dear breast,
To hear again some tender word you said,
To watch the little feet whose dainty tread
Fell light as flowers upon the way they pressed,
To touch again the lips I have caressed--
All these are precious. But your cheek of red
Outlives the mem'ry of all other things.
I'd known you scarce a month, or maybe two;
I had not yet made up my mind to speak,
You trots out Tifny's catalogue of rings;
Says No. 6 (200 yen) will do.
So I remember best of all your cheek.


WITH ALL YOUR FAULTS