The ever-ready victims they,
Of logical illusions,
And in a self-assertive way
They jump at strange conclusions.

Now take my case: Ere sorrow could
My ample forehead wrinkle,
I had determined that I should
Not care to be a winkle.

"A winkle," I would oft advance
With readiness provoking,
"Can seldom flirt, and never dance,
Or soothe his mind by smoking."

In short, I spurned the shelly joy,
And spoke with strange decision--
Men pointed to me as a boy
Who held them in derision.

But I was young--too young, by far--
Or I had been more wary,
I knew not then that winkles are
The stock-in-trade of MARY.

I had not watched her sunlight blithe
As o'er their shells it dances--
I've seen those winkles almost writhe
Beneath her beaming glances.