"What then?" she asks me with a laughWhy, then, with all heaven's luster glowing, It would not gild her path with half The light her love o'er mine is throwing! Winthrop Mackworth Praed [1802-1839] AT THE CHURCH GATE From "Pendennis" ALTHOUGH I enter not, And near the sacred gate, The Minster bell tolls out And noise and humming; They've hushed the Minster bell: The organ 'gins to swell; She's coming, she's coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; She comes-she's here-she's past! May heaven go with her! Kneel undisturbed, fair Saint! I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute, Toujours Amour Like outcast spirits, who wait, And see, through heaven's gate, 765 William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863] MABEL, IN NEW HAMPSHIRE FAIREST of the fairest, rival of the rose, That is Mabel of the Hills, as everybody knows. Do you ask me near what stream this sweet floweret grows? That's an ignorant question, sir, as everybody knows. Ask you what her age is, reckoned as time goes? Is she tall as Rosalind, standing on her toes? What's the color of her eyes, when they ope or close? Is she lovelier dancing, or resting in repose? Do her ships go sailing on every wind that blows? Has she scores of lovers, heaps of bleeding beaux? I could tell you something, if I only chose!- TOUJOURS AMOUR PRITHEE tell me, Dimple-Chin, But a miracle of sweets, "Oh!" the rosy lips reply, Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face, Do your heart and head keep pace? "Ah!" the wise old lips reply, "Youth may pass and strength may die; But of Love I can't foretoken: Ask some older sage than I!" Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] THE DOORSTEP THE Conference-meeting through at last, Not braver he that leaps the wall Than I, that stepped before them all Who longed to see me get the mitten. The Doorstep But no! she blushed and took my arm: I can't remember what we said,- The snow was crisp beneath our feet, The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, Her face with youth and health was beaming. The little hand outside her muff (O sculptor! if you could but mold it) So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, To keep it warm I had to hold it. To have her with me there alone, 'Twas love and fear and triumph blended: At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended. The old folks, too, were almost home: We heard the voices nearer come, Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. She shook her ringlets from her hood, And with a "Thank you, Ned!" dissembled; But yet I knew she understood With what a daring wish I trembled. A cloud passed kindly overhead, The moon was slyly peeping through it, Yet hid its face, as if it said "Come, now or never! do it! do it!" 767 My lips till then had only known The kiss of mother and of sister, But somehow, full upon her own Sweet, rosy, darling mouth,-I kissed her! Perhaps 'twas boyish love: yet still, O listless woman! weary lover! To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill THE WHITE FLAG I SENT my love two roses,-one I meant to touch and test my fate; For if she holds me dear, I said, My heart sank when I met her: sure I had been overbold, For on her breast my pale rose lay In virgin whiteness cold. Yet with low words she greeted me, Upon her cheek the red rose dawned, The white rose meant surrender. John Hay (1838-1905] |