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58
TO CHLORIS
Witty Chloris! arch young Chloris!
Sweetest maid of Sydney town,
I perceive she grows a woman,
And can take admirers down.
Yet I knew her when ten summers
Scarce had breathed on her cheek—
But even then she was a lady
Mixed of quizzical and meek.
Yes, her air was very queenly,
As amid "those babes," she stood;
And her face was very solemn,
Wearing its inquiring mood.
Rarely now she lights our pathways,
True, the lads did gaze too hard;
But the treasure hide not, Chloris,
Once was seen in thy regard.
