The North Carolina Standard

The jig is up; I have been flung,
Sky high--and worse than that,
The girl whose praises I have sung
With pen, with pencil, and with tongue,
Said "No;" and I fell flat.

Now I will neither roar nor rant,
Nor my hard fate deplore;
Why should a fellow look aslant
If one girl says she won't or can't,
While there's so many more?

I strove my best--it would not do,
I told her she'd regret
She'd ruin my heart and chances too,
As girls don't like those fellows who
Their walking papers get.

In truth I loved her very well,
And thought that she loved me,
The reason why I cannot tell--
But when I wooed this pretty belle--
'Twas a mistake in me.

She's dark of eyes--and her sweet smile,
Like some of which I've read,
Is false--for she, with softest guile,
Lured me 'mong rocks, near love's bright isle,
And then she cut me dead.

My vanity was wounded sore
And that I hate the worst;
You see, a haughty look I wore
And thought she could not but adore
Of all men, me the first.

Well, thank the fates, once more I'm free--
At every shrine I'll bow;
And if again a girl cheats me,
Exceeding sharp, I guess she'll be,
I've cut my eye-teeth now.

Oh, like the bumble bee I'll rove
Just when and where I please--
Inhaling sweets from every grove,
Humming around each flower I love
And dancing in each breeze.