Post Office Romance

 The lady at the corner wicket
Sold me a stamp, I stooped to lick it,
And on the envelope to stick it;
A spinster lacking girlish grace,
Yet sweetly sensitive, her face
Seemed to en-star that stodgy place.
 

Said I: "I've come from o'er the sea
To ask you if you'll marry me -
That is to say, if you are free.

I see your gentle features freeze;
'I do not like such jokes as these,'
You seem to say .
 .
 .
 Have patience, please.
 

I saw you twenty years ago;
Just here you sold me stamps, and Oh
Your image seemed to haunt me so.

For you were lovely as a rose,
But I was poor, and I suppose
At me you tilted dainty nose.
 

Ah, well I knew love could not be,
So sought my fortune o'er the sea,
Deeming that you were lost to me.

Of sailing ships a mate was I,
From oriental ports to ply .
 .
 .

Ten years went past of foreign sky.
 

But always in the starry night
I steered my course with you in sight,
My dream of you a beacon light.

Then after a decade had sped
I cam again: 'What luck? I said,
'Will she be here and free to wed?' 

Oh it was on a morn of Spring,
And I had in my purse a ring
I bought in Eastern voyaging,
With thought of you and only you;
For I to my love dream was true .
 .
 .

And here you were, your eyes of blue.
 

The same sun shining on your brow
Lustered you hair as it does now,
My heart was standing still, I vow.

I bought a stamp, my eyes were bent
Upon a ring you wore - I went
Away as if indifferent.
 

Again I sailed behind the mast,
And yet your image held me fast,
For once again ten years have passed.

And I am bronzed with braid of gold;
The rank of Captain now I hold,
And fifty are my years all told.
 

Yet still I have that ruby ring
I bought for you that morn of Spring -
See, here it is, a pretty thing.
 .
 .
 .

But now you've none upon your finger;
Why? I don't know - but as I linger
I'm thinking : Oh what can I bring her.
 

Who all my life have ploughed the ocean,
A lonely man with one devotion -
Just you? Ah, if you'd take the notion
To try the thing you ought to wear,
It fits so well.
 Do leave it there.
 

And here's a note addressed to you.

Ah yes, quite strangers are we two,
But - well, please answer soon .
 .
 .
 Adieu! 

 * * * * * * * * * * 

Oh no, you never more will see
Her selling stamps at Wicket Three:
Queen of my home, she's pouring tea.

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