Puslapio vaizdai

To one, perhaps, of all the men,
Who best could understand her,-

Cyril that, duly flattered, took,
As only Cyril's able,
With just the same Arcadian look
He used, last night, for Mabel;

Then, having waltzed till every star
Had paled away in morning,

Lit up his cynical cigar,

And tossed you downward, scorning.

Kismet, my Rose! Revenge is sweet,-
She made my heart-strings quiver;
And yet You shan't lie in the street,
I'll drop you in the River.

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ETWEEN the berried holly-bush The Blackbird whistled to the Thrush: "Which way did bright-eyed Bella go? Look, Speckle-breast, across the snow,― Are those her dainty tracks I see, That wind beside the shrubbery?"

The Throstle pecked the berries still.
"No need for looking, Yellow-bill;
Young Frank was there an hour ago,
Half frozen, waiting in the snow;
His callow beard was white with rime,-
"Tchuck,-'tis a merry pairing-time !"

"What would you?" twittered in the Wren; "These are the reckless ways of men. I watched them bill and coo as though They thought the sign of Spring was snow; If men but timed their loves as we, 'Twould save this inconsistency."

"Nay, Gossip," chirped the Robin, "nay; I like their unreflective way.

Besides, I heard enough to show

Their love is proof against the snow :— 'Why wait,' he said, 'why wait for May, When love can warm a winter's day?""


"Si jeunesse savait ?—"


PLUNGE my hand among the leaves : (An alien touch but dust perceives, Nought else supposes ;)

For me those fragrant ruins raise
Clear memory of the vanished days
When they were roses.

"If youth but knew!" Ah, "if,” in truth— I can recall with what gay youth,

To what light chorus,
Unsobered yet by time or change,
We roamed the many-gabled Grange,
All life before us;

Braved the old clock-tower's dust and damp To catch the dim Arthurian camp

In misty distance;

Peered at the still-room's sacred stores,
Or rapped at walls for sliding doors
Of feigned existence.

What need had we for thoughts or cares ! The hot sun parched the old parterres And "flowerful closes";

We roused the rooks with rounds and glees, Played hide-and-seek behind the trees,— Then plucked these roses.

Louise was one-
-light, glib Louise,
So freshly freed from school decrees
You scarce could stop her;
And Bell, the Beauty, unsurprised
At fallen locks that scandalized
Our dear "Miss Proper :'

Shy Ruth, all heart and tenderness,
Who wept-like Chaucer's Prioress,
When Dash was smitten;
Who blushed before the mildest men,
Yet waxed a very Corday when
You teased her kitten.

I loved them all. Bell first and best ;
Louise the next-for days of jest

Or madcap masking;

And Ruth, I thought,-why, failing these, When my High-Mightiness should please, She'd come for asking.

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