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I'd rather wear
DENISE. • He loves ?-he loves ?” Why all this loving 's naught !
THE PRINCESS. And“ Naught (quoth JACQUOT) makes the sum of Love !"
CHÉRUBIN, the page. 'Tis but a child, yet with that roguish smile,
And those sly looks, the child will make hearts ache
THE PRINCESS. Those—are two gentlemen of Picardy, Equal in blood,-of equal bravery:D'AURELLES and MAUFRIGNAC. They hunt in pair; I mete them morsels with an equal care, Lest they should eat each other,ếor eat Me.
DENISE. And that and that
I name them not. Those are the crowd who merely think their lot The lighter by my land.
And is there none More prized than most? There surely must be one, A Carp of carps !
Ah me !-he will not come ! He swims at large,—looks shyly on,-is dumb. Sometimes, indeed, I think he fain would nibble, But while he stays with doubts and fears to quibble, Some gilded fop, or mincing courtier-fribble, Slips smartly in,--and gets the proffered crumb. He should have all my crumbs—if he'd but ask; Nay, an he would, it were no hopeless task To gain a something more. But though he 's brave, He's far too proud to be a dangling slave ; And then-he's modest! So., he will not come !
'IS an old dial, dark with many a stain ;
In summer crowned with drifting orchard bloom, Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain,
And white in winter like a marble tomb;
And round about its gray, time-eaten brow
Lean letters speak—a worn and shattered row : J am a Shade: a Shadowe too arte thou:
31 marke the Time : saye, Gossip, dost thou soe?
Here would the ringdoves linger, head to head ;
And here the snail a silver course would run, Beating old Time ; and here the peacock spread
His gold-green glory, shutting out the sun.
The tardy shade moved forward to the noon;
Betwixt the paths a dainty Beauty stept, That swung a flower, and, smiling, hummed a tune,
Before whose feet a barking spaniel leapt.
O’er her blue dress an endless blossom strayed ;
About her tendril-curls the sunlight shone ; And round her train the tiger-lilies swayed,
Like courtiers bowing till the queen be gone.
She leaned upon the slab a little while,
Then drew a jewelled pencil from her zone, Scribbled a something with a frolic smile,
Folded, inscribed, and niched it in the stone.
The shade slipped on, no swifter than the snail ;
There came a second lady to the place, Dove-eyed, dove-robed, and something wan and pale
An inner beauty shining from her face.
She, as if listless with a lonely love,
Straying among the alleys with a book,Herrick or Herbert,—watched the circling dove,
And spied the tiny letter in the nook.
Then, like to one who confirmation found
Of some dread secret half-accounted true,– Who knew what hands and hearts the letter bound,
And argued loving commerce 'twixt the two,
She bent her fair young forehead on the stone ;
The dark shade gloomed an instant on her head And 'twixt her taper-fingers pearled and shone
The single tear that tear-worn eyes will shed.
The shade slipped onward to the falling gloom ;
There came a soldier gallant in her stead, Swinging a beaver with a swaling plume,
A ribboned love-lock rippling from his head ;