Select Poetry.

Otago Witness, Issue 652, 28 May 1864, Page 4

Select Poetry.

-WHAT WAS IT? It was not a scold, nor a cuff, nor a kick, The wound of a sword, nor a blow from a stick, A shot from any sort of a gun That ever wa3 forged beneath the sun, A fall from a horse, nor a bite of a dog: A burn from a torch carried out in a fog, That made me ache confoundedly Just where a gentleman's heart should be. It was nat a plaister, nor lotion, nor draught, Homoeopath practice, or Allopath craft, Nor any description of patent pill, That ever was pounded to cure or kill : Nor the cure foi nerves that are running to seed — A sedative puff of the fragrant "weed." That curad my pain. ' Twas a smile for me Just where a pretty girl's lips should be. For my heart had "been aching for many a day, And my mind full of trouble and sorrow, I vowed that I never would see her again: But haunted her steps on the morrow. I worried my friends, and neglected ray work Was horribly jealous of stupid young Smirk, In short, was a nuisance to hear or to s«e, Just as a fellow in love should be. Well, well . it's all over, my smile I got, And stole something else fro» its pretty birthspot, Went home with a breast that with rapture was thrilling, Gave cabby a sovereign instead of a shilling, And the sweet lips that cured me— at breakfast

and tea Are just where a gentleman's wife should be.