From the Rock Island Argus, October 2, 1913. By Henry Howland.
He never told his love; she met him at the door
And told him that he ne’er had looked so well before;
She said she was so glad he had been pleased to call,
And, talking, took his hat and hung it in the hall.
She’d thought of him all day, she hastened to declare;
She led him to a nook and sat beside him there;
She deftly smoothed his tie and tucked one corner in,
And with her little hand she softly touched his chin.
She told him she was sure he’d some day make his mark;
The nook in which they sat was all their own, and dark;
He found her in his arms and vowing to be true;
He never told his love—she made it needless to.