The Golden Mean
I do not love your forward misses
Who think of naught but flirts and kisses;
I do not love your prudish maid
Who sits and frowns, so stiff and staid.
To neither would I plight my troth—
‘Too fast’—‘Too slow’—I hate them both.
Who think of naught but flirts and kisses;
I do not love your prudish maid
Who sits and frowns, so stiff and staid.
To neither would I plight my troth—
‘Too fast’—‘Too slow’—I hate them both.
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