In Polly’s Eyes.
Let poets sing of beauty, fame, In rounded rhyme or story ; Let soldiers boast of war’s tierce game, Of martial deeds and glory.— For mo life has no greater prize Than gazing into Polly’s eyes. Let scholars waste their cheerless lives With hooks so old and dreary ; The man who hut for knowledge strives Of living soon grows weary ; And—what’s the use of being wise When I gaze into Polly’s eyes P So let the old -world go its way; A fig for fame or glory ; I live but for that happy day When finished is “Our Story”— Arid I can read with glad surprise The “ Yes ” that lurks in Polly’s eyes.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZMAIL18961203.2.29
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Mail, 3 December 1896, Page 18
Word Count
115In Polly’s Eyes. New Zealand Mail, 3 December 1896, Page 18
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