Bret Harte

“ They say he'll be rich,—when he grows up,—
And then he adores me indeed;
And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.
[15]
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits—on the stairs—for me yet
[16]
"And how do I like my position?"
"And what do I think of New York?"
"And now, in my higher ambition,
With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?"
"And isn't it nice to have riches,
And diamonds and silks, and all that?"
"And aren't they a change to the ditches
And tunnels of Poverty Flat?" ”

“ And his language to me from his bunk, Miss,
Is frequent and painful and free.)
[45]
[46]
[47]
And the rose that you gave him
And his language to me from his bunk, Miss,
Is frequent and painful and free
[48]
He hopes you are wearing no willows,
But are happy and gay all the while;
That he knows— (which this dodging of pillows
Imparts but small ease to the style,
And the same you will pardon) —he knows, Miss,
That, though parted by many a mile,
"Yet, were he lying under the snows, Miss,
They'd melt into tears at your smile." ”

“ That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate"
(Which the language that invalid uses
At times it were vain to relate) .
[41]
That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;"
That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate"
[42]
And he says "that the mountains are fairer
For once being held in your thought;"
That each rock "holds a wealth that is rarer
Than ever by gold-seeker sought." ”