For I’m sure that I know true love at last,
And She is the fairest girl of all.
THE PETIT VIEUX
“Sow your wild oats in your youth,” so we’re always told;
But I say with deeper sooth: “Sow them when you’re old.”
I’ll be wise till I’m about seventy or so:
Then, by Gad! I’ll blossom out as an ancient beau.
I’ll assume a dashing air, laugh with loud Ha! ha!…
How my grandchildren will stare at their grand-papa!
Their perfection aurioled I will scandalize:
Won’t I be a hoary old sinner in their eyes!
Watch me, how I’ll learn to chaff barmaids in a bar;
Scotches daily, gayly quaff, puff a fierce cigar.
I will haunt the Tango teas, at the stage-door stand;
Wait for Dolly Dimpleknees, bouquet in my hand.
Then at seventy I’ll take flutters at roulette;
While at eighty hope I’ll make good at poker yet;
And in fashionable togs to the races go,
Gayest of the gay old dogs, ninety years or so.
“Sow your wild oats while you’re young,” that’s what you are told;
