When a girl's fancy flutters to a man,
It is but as a bird that flies and cries;
She has a winged thing's April memories
Of sunshine, and the morning Spring began.
Love at her heart, importuning a tryst,
Finds in her senses little heed of it;
But her bright lips most girlishly admit
The simple homeliness of being kissed.
Kiss and be friends, or, when the kissing closes,
Part, as we were together, merely friends;
Why should we weep because the summer ends,
And some sweet moments ended with the roses?