Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 17, Issue 969, 16 March 1871, Page 2

Select Poetry.

A BILLIARD LESSON.

'Tvvas pleasant on the winter nights To see beneath the shaded lights, Her golden head bent low; To watch her snowy fingers make A tiny " bridge " —and count each ,c break," Of such a gentle foe.

And though she said it was a sin To beat her—l could always win, To bear such pretty blame ; And still while winning strokes I made, It seemed to me as if I played A very losing game.

There's kudos in the rattling strokes You make amid a fire of j okes From chaffing fellow-men; And yet when beauty turns away, And pouts at your more skilful play, You've other feelings then.

No " hazard " that my canning cue. With all my greatest care could do, Or lucky " fluke " might get, Could ever equal that I ran In playing—miserable man ! With such a flirting pet.

And though I lost such heaps of gloves In betting with her—when one loves Such losing bets are blest. And since she teased me night and day, I only get at billiard-play, The chances of a " rest."

The " cannon " on the table green Will to a Canon come, I ween, Who'll tie me to a wife ; And she, with backers not a few, Will quietly put on the " screw," And " pocket" me for life !