Whether in Michigan they grew, Or by the far Pacific, Or Jerseywards, I never knew Or cared; they were magnifique! They set my hungry eyes flame, My heart to beating quicker, When trotted out by that good dame, A-drowned in spicy liquor!
Of divers sweets in many a land I have betimes partaken, Yet now for those old joys I stand, My loyalty unshaken! My palate, weary of the ways Of modern times, beseeches The toothsome grace of halcyon days And Mrs. Reilly's peaches!
Studded with cloves and cinnamon, And duly spiced and pickled, That viand was as choice an one As ever palate tickled! And by those peaches on his plate No valorous soul was daunted, For oh, the more of them you ate The more of them you wanted!
The years have dragged a weary pace Since last those joys I tasted, And I have grown so wan of face And oh, so slender-waisted! Yes, all is sadly changed, and yet If this eulogium reaches A certain lady, I shall get A quick return in peaches.