Classic Poem

“I' M an archer, dear, no longer,”
Said a maiden fair and bright
To her beau, with lip a - quiver—
“Webster says, ‘Toxophilite.’”

Then she gave her beau a narrow,
Searching glance, with pert grimace,
While he thought his love was archer
Than Diana in the chase.

“William Tell me how you like it;”
“Well enough,” replied the wight;
“It is true, among the archers,
Oftentimes, talk's awful light.”