PRITHEE tell me, Dimple-Chin,
At what age does Love begin ?
Your blue eyes have scarcely seen
Summers three, my fairy queen,
But a miracle of sweets,
Soft approaches, sly retreats,
Show the little archer there,
Hidden in your pretty hair :
When didst learn a heart to win?
Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin!
“Oh!” the rosy lips reply,
“ I can’t tell you if I try !
’T is so long I can’t remember:
Ask some younger Miss than I !’
Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face.
Do your heart and head keep pace ?
When does hoary Love expire.
When do frosts put out the fire ?
Can its embers burn below
All that chill December snow ?
Care you still soft hands to press,
Bonny heads to smooth and bless ?
When does Love give up the chase ?
Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face!
“Ah ! ” the wise old lips reply,
“Youth may pass and strength may die;
But of Love I can’t foretoken :
Ask some older Sage than I ! ”