I DREW it from its china tomb ;- With some thin ghost of past perfume An old, old letter,-folded still! That glimmering in the sultry haze, Slumbered like Goldsmith's Madam Blaize, A queer old place! You'd surely say Had planned it in Dutch William's day So trim it was. The yew-trees still, With pious care perverted, Grew in the same grim shapes; and still The lipless dolphin spurted; Still in his wonted state abode Only,-as fresh young Beauty gleams So peeped from its old-fashioned dreams For idle mallet, hoop, and ball A magazine, a tumbled shawl, Round which the swifts were flying; And, tossed beside the Guelder rose, "A place to love in,-live,—for aye, If we too, like Tithonus, Could find some God to stretch the gray, "But now by steam we run our race, "The time is out of joint.' Who will, II "Dear John (the letter ran), it can't, can't be, For Father's gone to Chorley Fair with Sam, And Mother's storing Apples,-Prue and me Up to our Elbows making Damson Jam : But we shall meet before a Week is gone,— "Tis a long Lane that has no turning, John! "Only till Sunday next, and then you'll wait Behind the White-Thorn, by the broken Stile We can go round and catch them at the Gate, All to Ourselves, for nearly one long Mile; Dear Prue won't look, and Father he'll go on, And Sam's two Eyes are all for Cissy, John! "John, she's so smart,—with every Ribbon new, Flame-coloured Sack, and Crimson Padesoy : As proud as proud; and has the Vapours too, Just like My Lady;-calls poor Sam a Boy, And vows no Sweet-heart's worth the Thinking "My Dear, I don't think that I thought of much Before we knew each other, I and you; And now, why, John, your least, least Fingertouch, Gives me enough to think a Summer through. See, for I send you Something! There, 'tis gone! Look in this corner,-mind you find it, John! III This was the matter of the note-- Dropped in an Indian dragon's throat, Piled with a dapper Dresden world,--- Ah, heart that wrote! Ah, lips that kissed! A reverent one. Though we to-day Starring some pure, primeval spring, Ere life was yet a selfish thing, Or Love a mere exotic! |