The Toast
I’m as loyal a subject as Britain can boast;
Our Queen she is gracious, and gentle, and wise;
But another this moment demandeth my toast,—
’Tis Annie, the lass with the two hazel eyes.
The hair of my idol’s a stream of delight,
The lustre thereof with the aerolite vies;
Her dimpled cheeks apples, the pure red and white;
But these are outshone by her two hazel eyes.
Her breasts are two hillocks of new-driven snow,
Between them a dell of enchantment lies,
Where love lurks, the elf! with his death-darts, but no—
These cannot be named with her two hazel eyes.
The golden-eyed lily but faintly displays
The grace of her form, her demeanour, and guise;
A jewel is she in heart, language, and ways;
But nothing can equal her two hazel eyes.
I’m as loyal a subject as Britain can boast;
Victoria’s gentle, gracious, and wise;
But another this moment demanded my toast,—
I drink to the lass with the two hazel eyes.
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