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Eva has given me a rose;
A lily, for Annie, I plucked,
And wound amid Eva's locks Jessamine in sweet repose.
For their mother I seized from its stem
A geranium of delicate hue ;
So curiously coloured it grew, That they laughed when I held it to them.
The father had come from the town ;
Presented me to a friend,
Alfred, I hear, is his name,
Such, at least, it is here;
To some one he seemed rather dear, At least she blushed when he came.
Not easy, I thought, the task
Either maiden to win,
Unless, when you made the attempt, You could feel you had only to ask. Tall was he, blue-eyed, and slim, Masses of chesnut hair
Curled round his forehead, while strength Revealed itself in each limb.
Dressed with consummate taste,
His necktie carefully tied,
And the delicate colour was chosen To suit the complexion it graced.
A signet one finger adorned,
His watch-chain was massive and thick; Were it not that he bore it well, Such vanity I had scorned. Were it not for a something bright,
That shone about his smile :
Bidding one plainly know
He seemned upon friendly terms,
And when to Annie he turned, He spoke with a gentler air. At dinner he sat by her side, And the thought passed through my mind
That some day, in the very same place, They would sit as bridegroom and bride. No need to describe what we ate,
In fact, I scarcely knew;
Attending to Eva's wants,
But whether 'twere Eva's mood,
Or the pair on the opposite side,
That made me forget the meal, I leave the muse to conclude. ,
Wandering amidst flowers On a summer's eve,
Birds in bushes singing,
Airy voices ringing ;
Under bowers of roses,
Where sweet scent reposes, Passing among trees;
All around us smiling,
Converse time beguiling : Homeward fly the bees.
Near a cover railing,
Ivy o'er it trailing;
Merry all together,
Blessing summer weather ; Scarce can one believe,
How quickly fly the hours.
Shadows cease to loom, When the stars appear,
Some one's bold beginning
Attentive ear is winning, As we walk along;
Some one plucked a lily,
And said something silly, Making some one blush;
How a heart is beating !
Lips are almost meeting,
Lips are opened slowly,
Words are whispered lowly,
Evening is advancing,
Stars above us glancing, We seek the drawing-room.
I have listened with rapturous ecstacy To sounds that swell so mightily,
Those sweet Italian strains. The delight of modern harmony, Enriched and twined with sympathy,
For the sweet artiste's pains.
To a prima donna's best opera,
Breathing the sweetest song ;
As the sweet notes sweep along.
Or when at eve from a hawthorn bush,
Waking the silent hour ;
Trembling 'neath music's power.
But to sit as I sat that summer's night, What conscious joy ! what novel delight!
As a duet the sisters intoned; Words fail to tell all my spirit felt, As if at the throne of song I knelt,
The pleasing power I owned.
Sounds soft, as heavenly strains they seem, Like angels in some poet's dream,
Sleeping where waters lave, The shores of a lake where silence reigns, Save on the bounds of the watery plains,
The dash of a moonlit wave.