But sudden at my feet look'd up Pure odour in pure perfect cup, That made my bosom sing. 'Twas not for size, nor gorgeous dyes, But her own self, I ween, Her own sweet self, that bade me stoop And take her for my Queen. Now all day long and every day Her beauty on me grows, And holds with stronger sweeter sway Than lily or than rose; And this one star outshines by far All in the meadow green; And so I wear her on my heart And take her for my Queen And take her for my Queen. FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE. THANK thee, dear, for words that fleet, For all caresses simply sweet For blushes mutely understood, Oh how in words to tell the rest? Oh give to God the love again Which had from Him its birth,— Oh bless Him, for He sent the twain Together on the earth. FREDERICK MYERS. 66 MY NEIGHBOUR. POVE thou thy Neighbour," we are told, "Even as thyself." That creed I hold; L But love her more, a thousand-fold! My lovely Neighbour; oft we meet I know the music of her feet. She little thinks how, on a day, Or how the rustle of her dress Wee woman, with her smiling mien, She passes me, unconscious Queen! Her face most innocently good, Her form a nest of Womanhood! Like Raleigh-for her dainty tread, Ah, Neighbour, you will never know I see you 'mid your flowers at morn, If so, 'twere sweet to lean one's breast I hear you sing! And thro' me Spring You know not, dear, how dear you be ; Nothing, and yet a world to me. So near, too! you could hear me sigh, GERALD MASSEY. BLANCHE. @ERE I a breath of summer air, Were I a stream, with low soft song, In bliss to murmur at thy feet. Were I a bird with mellow throat, I would forsake the pleasant grove, And tune for thee the softest note That music dedicates to love. For thee my daily wishes burn ; |