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When Hearts Are Trumps

by Tom Hall

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Now, all you pretty maids in town,
  Take heed of my sad plight.
I’ve lost a kiss; I’ll give a crown
  To get it back to-night.

I threw it, poet-like, I own,
  Up to a silvery star;
I must confess I might have known
  I could not throw so far.

But, oh, surprise! It circled round,
  And sank as though ’t were laden
With love—when almost to the ground
  ’T was caught by some young maiden.

And that young maid I wish to find.
  I’ve lost a kiss, alack!
It is not hers. She’ll not be kind
  Unless she give it back.

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