White-hot, indoors, the great logs gleam,
Veiled by a flickering flame of blue :
I see my love as in a dream

Her eyes are azure, too.

She puts her hair behind her ears
(Each little ear so like a shell),
Touches her ivory Queen, and fears
She is not playing well.

For me, I think of nothing less:

I think how those pure pearls become her -And which is sweetest, winter chess

Or garden strolls in summer.

O linger, frost, upon the pane!

O faint blue flame, still softly rise! O, dear one, thus with me remain,

That I may watch thine eyes!

MULTUM IN PARVO.

A LITTLE shadow makes the sunrise sad,
A little trouble checks the race of joy,
A little agony may drive men mad,
A little madness may the soul destroy:
Such is the world's annoy.

Ay, and the rose is but a little flower
Which the red Queen of all the garden is:
And Love, which lasteth but a little hour,
A moment's rapture and a moment's kiss,
Is what no man would miss.

TO F. C.

20th FEBRUARY, 1875.

FAST falls the snow, O lady mine,
Sprinkling the lawn with crystals fine,
But by the gods we won't repine
While we 're together,

We'll chat and rhyme and kiss and dine,
Defying weather.

So stir the fire and pour the wine,
And let those sea-green eyes divine
Pour their love-madness into mine:
I don't care whether

'Tis snow or sun or rain or shine
If we're together.

FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON.

TO MY GRANDMOTHER.

SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY MR. ROMNEY.

Under the elm a rustic seat

Was merriest Susan's pet retreat
To merry make.

THIS relative of mine,

Was she seventy-and-nine

When she died?

By the canvas may be seen
How she looked at seventeen,
As a bride.

Beneath a summer tree,

Her maiden reverie

Has a charm;

Her ringlets are in taste;

What an arm! - what a waist

For an arm!

With her bridal-wreath, bouquet,
Lace farthingale, and gay

Falbala,

Were Romney's limning true,

What a lucky dog were you,

Grandpapa!

Her lips are sweet as love;
They are parting! Do they move?
Are they dumb?

Her eyes are blue, and beam

Beseechingly, and seem

My little friend, so small, so neat,

Whom years ago I used to meet
In Pall Mall daily,

How cheerily you tript away

To work, it might have been to play,
You tript so gayly.