Passer Le Temps.

A poem by Hattie Howard

So that's the way you pass your time!
Indeed your charming, frank confession
Betrays no sort of heinous crime,
But marks a wonderful digression
From puritanic views, less bold,
That we were early taught to hold.

"Passer le temps," of course, implies
A little cycle of flirtations,
Wherein the actors never rise
To sober, serious relations,
But play just for amusement's sake
A harmless game of "give and take."

While moments pass on pinions fleet,
And youth in beauty effloresces,
The joy that finds itself complete
In honeyed words and soft caresses,
Alas! an index seems to be
Of perilous inconstancy.

It may be with disdainful smile
You greet this comment from a stranger,
Your pleasure-paths pursuing while
A siren voice discounts the danger,
Until, some day, in sadder rhyme
You rue your mode of "passing time."