J. Connelly
When first I kissed my Nancy,
’Twas on a railway train.
A little tuft of thistledown
Danced by the window pane.
She asked me what it symbolized—
I kissed her to explain.
When first I kissed my Nancy
‘Twas on a railway train.
Her heart was light like thistledown,
Her mouth was soft as rain.
And something weakened in her eyes
That long asleep had lain.
It seems but yesterday somehow,
Where’s thistledown, where’s Nancy now?