A Tatting Temptress

An Afterthought

'Twas in the garden chatting

Amid the mignonette,-

She with her snowy tatting,

I with my cigarette.

I still can see her fingers

Flit softly in and out;

With rapture memory lingers

To view her lips a-pout.

A happy sunbeam glancing

Upon a wayward curl

Set every pulse to dancing,

And turned my brain a-whirl;

And when she looked up shyly,

I could not help, you see,

But stoop and kiss her slyly

Behind the apple-tree.

Strange that some mote forever

Should mar the rays of bliss!

Though conscious I had never

Yet won so sweet a kiss,

Alas!  the act of plunder

So gracefully she bore,

I could not choose but wonder,

Had she been kissed before?

Samuel Minturn Peck