Volume 150 — A FANTASY.

If you were a white rose Columbine And I were a Harlequin, I'd leap and sway on my spangled hips And blow you a kiss with my finger tips To woo a smile to your petal lips At every glittering spin. If I were a pig-tailed Buccaneer And you were a Bristol Girl, A-rolling home from over the sea I'd give you a hug on the landing quay, A hook-nosed parrot that swore like me, And a brooch of mother-o'-pearl. If you were a Donna of old Castile And a Troubadour were I, I'd sing at night beneath your room And weave you dreams in a minstrel's loom With rainbow tears and the roses' bloom And star-shine out of the sky. If I were a powdered Exquisite And you were a fair Bellairs, I'd press your hand in the gay pavane; And whisper under your painted fan As I bowed you into your blue sedan At the old Assembly stairs. If you were a Watteau Shepherdess And I were a gipsy lad, I'd teach you tunes that the blackbird trills And show you the dance of the daffodils, The white moon rising over the hills, And Night in her jewels clad. If you were the Queen of Make-believe And I were a Prince o' Dream, We'd dress the world in a rich romance With Pans a-piping and Queens that dance, With plume and mantle and rapier glance And Beauty's eyes a-gleam. If I were a Poet, sweet, my own, And you were my Lady true, I'd hymn your praise by night and morn With golden notes through a silver horn That unborn men in an age unborn Might glow with a dream of you!