THE IVORY LATCH

Rattle the Ivory Latch of Love

And who will unbar the gate?

Ask no questions, my dearest love,

But wait—wait—wait.

Ah, will she be haughty Isabeau,

Pale Isodore, or Kate?

Hush, dearest dear, some day you'll know,

Be not importunate.

Perchance I might love Isodore,

I think I could love Kate;

I have no fears for Isabeau

Should she unbar the gate.

Perchance she may be Isabeau,

Perhaps she will be Kate;

But which, dear heart, you'll never know,

Till you have learned to wait.