When hearts are trumps | Page 3

a fair young bride?In a pure white dress by her husband's side.
A blush crept over her pale young face,?And her thin lips smiled with a girlish grace;?But the old storm-king made his boast aloud?That his work that night was weaving a shroud.
Love's Return.
Love has come back--ah me, the joy!--?Greater than when Love began?To wound my heart. The jocund boy!?Love has come back a gray-haired man.
His eyes are red with tears of woe,?His cheeks are pale, and his heart is sore;?But Love has come back at last, and, oh!?Love will be faithful evermore.
One Wish.
My thoughts are gliding down the stream,?Ah, faster than the river flows;?And idly in my heart I dream?Of islands where the lotus grows.
I fear not rapids, waterfall,?Or whirlpool leading down to death,?If love but my tired heart enthrall,?And I may sip a woman's breath.
I care not what may be my fate.?Roll on, mad river, to the sea;?Drown all ambition, pride, and hate,--?But leave one woman's love to me.
For Me.
I heard her song,?Low in the night,?From out her casement steal away,?Nor thought it wrong?To steal a sight?Of her--and lo! she knelt to pray.
I heard her say,?"Forgive him, Lord;?Such as he seems he cannot be."?I turned away,?Myself abhorred.?She prayed--and oh! she prayed for me.
To a Water-color.
Sweet Phyllis, maid of yesterday,?Come down from out that frame,?And tell me why you looked so gay--?Likewise your other name.
Had bold Sir Plume confessed his love?And asked you if you'd wed??And had he called you "Lovey-dove"??And how long are you dead?
Where did you get that wondrous gown,?Those patches, and that hair??And how were things in London town?The last time you were there?
And did you die a maid or wife,?Your husband lord or knave??And how did you like this jolly life??And how do you like the grave?
The Serenade.
Under my casement, as I pray,?My lover sings my cares away?With many a half-forgotten lay.
He leans against the linden-tree,?And sings old songs of Arcady?That he knows well are loved by me.
Half through the night the sweet strains float?Like wind-blown rose-leaves, note by note,?Over the great wall and the moat,
Up to my window, till they teem?Into my soul, and almost seem?To be there even when I dream.
And his heart trembling beats with bliss?If I but throw him one small kiss?Just as I now throw this, and this
To the Rose in her hair.
Poor little rose, I pity you--?Sweet as Oporto's wind when fruity--?Tortured an evil hour or two,?Just to adorn a wilful beauty.
I know her well, too well, alas!?(Just watch the fairy as she dances.)?She wears my heart--but let that pass;?It's dead: she killed it with her glances.
Your fate, poor rose, is such as mine,--?To be despised when you are faded;?Yet she's an angel--too divine?To be by you or me upbraided.
Her Reverie.
A lady combed her silken hair.?None but a looking-glass would dare?To gaze on such a scene.?The blushes thronged her dimpled cheek;?They coursed upon her shoulders, eke,?And the white neck between.
And she was thinking then, I trow,?Of one who, in a whispered vow?Beneath the budding elm,?Had told her they would sail their barque?On lakes where pale stars pierced the dark,?With Cupid at the helm.
Anon, a faint smile pursed her lips?And shook her dainty finger-tips,?As breezes shake the boughs;?And then a quick, impetuous frown?Came gathering from her ringlets down,?And perched upon her brows.
Ah, she was thinking then, I ween,?Of me, poor clumsy dunce, who e'en?Had torn her silken dress.?I waltzed too near her at the ball;?Her beauty dazed me--that was all;?I felt a dizziness.
To Beauty.
"Oh, Mistress Beauty," said my sigh,?"I'd laugh to scorn all other blisses,?If you and I might live and die?Together on such fare as kisses.
"Your kirtle would not be of silk,?The band around it but torn leather.?I think our wine would be plain milk;?I think we'd oft see stormy weather.
"But, oh, there are some things in life?Worth more to men than fame or money;?And one of them's a sweet young wife,?So pure, so honest, and so bonnie."
Dreaming of You.
My soul feels refreshed, like a rose kissed by dew,?When waking I know I've been dreaming of you.
They thought I was mad. Ah, my sweet, if they knew?That my malady simply was dreaming of you!
I've one wish. 'Tis to sleep all the long ages through?By your side, you my bride, and I dreaming of you.
Please Return.
Now, all you pretty maids in town,?Take heed of my sad plight.?I've lost a kiss; I'll give a crown?To get it back to-night.
I threw it, poet-like, I own,?Up to a silvery star;?I must confess I might have known?I could not throw so far.
But, oh, surprise! It circled round,?And sank as though 't were laden?With love--when almost to the ground?'T was caught by some young maiden.
And that young maid I wish to find.?I've lost a kiss, alack!?It is not hers. She'll not be kind?Unless she give it back.
Almost Dying of Ennui.
What are the charms of the sea??Oh