I'd not forbid my love to flirt,

It were a hopeless charge;

I'd only have those eyes of blue

More sure in their discharge.

I'd have you smile, then turn away,


Instead of simply stare;

I'd have you show a little pique,

And be less debonair.

I'd have you cast your lashes down,

With just a tinge of red

Reflected from your crimson fan

When something sweet is said.

I'd have you stammer at a word

And gently tap your hand,

As if, from soft embarrassment,

It came not at command.

And should I press the little hand

That lay within my own,

I'd have you blush and whisper, Don't,

In a forgiving tone.

Nay, more, I'd have the grasp returned,

But with a timid touch,

Not with a stolid unconcern

As if you cared as much.

And when my arm is round your waist

And lips about to clash,

I'd have you struggle from affright -

Not that I'd crush your sash.

Yes, love, though you are very fair,

Your arrows do not hurt;

For though you have a world of wit,

You know not how to flirt.