Poem by Lesbia Harford

* * *

Emmie, Emmie Adams,
With her insolent air,
Tied a little bit of rag
In her yellow hair.
When Lena, wondering,
Asked why it was there,
Emmie said she didn't know
And she didn't care.
I think Emmie Adams,
Though you are so fair,
That must be the devil's horn
In your yellow hair.

1. A lady and I were walking
2. White Sunshine
3. You, whom the grave cannot bind
4. How funny it would be if dreamy I
5. Tall trees along the road

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