If I were with thee.
But the light has no beauty
Of thee, love bereft:
I am thine, and thine only!
_Thine!_--over the left!
Over the left!

As the wild Arab hails,
On his desolate way,
The palm-tree which tells
Where the cool fountains play,
So thy presence is ever
The herald of bliss,
For there's love in thy smile,
And there's joy in thy kiss.
Thou hast won me--then wear me!
Of thee, love, bereft,
I should fade like a flower,
_Yes!_--over the left!
Over the left!

* * * * *


A gentleman in Mobile has a watch that goes so fast, he is obliged to
calculate a week back to know the time of day.

A new bass singer has lately appeared at New Orleans, who sings so
remarkably _deep_, it takes nine Kentucky lawyers to understand a single
bar!