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.