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; He welcomed me kindly, and then Who to dine had also come down. 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, With all the family there He seemed 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, All other things made me forget. But whether 'twere Eva's mood, X. Wandering amidst flowers On a summer's eve, Birds in bushes singing, Airy voices ringing; Strolling over gravel, 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; Talking over travel, 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 As we walk along ; Some one plucked a lily, Making some one blush; How a heart is beating! Lips are almost meeting, By the scented bush ; Lips are opened slowly, In a gentle song; Evening is advancing, Stars above us glancing, XI. 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, While every eye on the stage is bent, Or when at eve from a hawthorn bush, While all around seems calm and still, But to sit as I sat that summer's night, 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. |