In her declining days!
The very maids about the house
Have set me down a nun,
The sweethearts all belong to them
That call at Number One!

"Once only, when the flue took fire,
One Friday afternoon,
Young Mr. Long came kindly in,
And told me not to swoon.
Why can't he come again without
The Phoenix and the Sun?
We cannot always have a flue
On fire at Number One!

"I am not old, I am not plain,
Nor awkward in my gait--
I am not crooked like the bride
That went from Number Eight;
I'm sure white satin made her look
As brown as any bun--
But even beauty has no chance
I think at Number One.

"At Number Six they say Miss Rose
Has slain a score of hearts,
And Cupid, for her sake, has been
Quite prodigal of darts.
The imp they show with bended bow--
I wish he had a gun;