WILL YOU COME? 



C. L. BAILEY. 



Where, in the midst of your social life, 



At reception, banquet or ball, 

 Can you find the rest for heart and brain 



That Nature offers to all 

 Who please to enter her great boudoir, 



To visit her vales and hills, 

 To translate the words of her rustling 

 leaves, 



Her bird songs, her babbling rills ; 

 The ripple of waves on her woodland 

 lakes, 



The moan of her fleeting wind, 

 The lightning's flash and the thunder's 

 crash 



And the wild surf's constant grind? 



Then lay aside your neat dress suit, 



Your linen, immaculate white; 

 Put on your flannels and corduroys 



And come with me into the light 

 Not made by whirling dynamo, 



Nor measured by meter's lie, 

 But sent as a gift from God's great lamps 



Ever hung in the open sky. 

 Our music will come from an orchestra 



That plays with angelic grace; 

 Our claret we'll drink from the pure 

 spring's brink 



That reflects back your happy face. 



The exquisite thrill that goes over you 



As that soft, gloved hand you feel, 

 You'll find outclassed a thousand fold 



By the whirr of the clicking reel, 

 The pliant spring of the 6-ounce rod, 



The strain on the silken line, 

 The hopes and fears that arouse your soul 



Like draughts of ancient wine. 

 Ah, now you flirt with a fair coquette! 



To win her will take all the arts, 

 All the tricks of the trades, worked on 

 ballroom maids 



With warm eyes, but Klondyke hearts. 



Do you long for the light stepped Terpsi- 

 chore? 

 If so, you can get your sate ; 

 We will go to the haunts of the blithe red 

 deer 

 At the time when he seeks his mate. 

 When the snow-clad ground gives no an- 

 swer back 

 To the moccasins' stealthy tread ; 

 You'll find you need your lightest step, 



As the forest aisles you thread, 

 If ever you get a glimpse of her 

 Who leads you the merry dance; 

 Who's as shy and alert as the cultured 

 flirt 

 Fresh out from the schools of France. 



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