To Youngsters

Golden hair and eyes of blue,

What won't they do, what won't they do?

The gaitered foot, the taper waist—

Be not in haste, be not in haste;

Before your chin grows twenty spear,

My word for 't, youngster, they 'll appear.

Raven hair and eyes of night

Undo the boys (it serves 'em right);

The drooping curl, the downward glance,

They are only waiting for the chance;

They have not failed this thousand year,

Right in the nick, lad, they 'll appear.

Shapely hands and arms of snow,

There 's nothing like them here below;

The cheeks that blush, the lips that smile—

A little while, a little while—

Tease out the sprout, sir, never fear,

Before you know it they 'll be here.

Hands, and hair, and lips, and eyes,

In these the tyro's danger lies;

A touch, a tress, a glance, a sigh,

And then, my boy, good-by—good-by!

God help you, youngster! keep good cheer;

Coax on your chin to twenty spear.