Puslapio vaizdai
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As, to the pipe, with rhythmic feet
In windings of some old-world dance,
The smiling couples cross and meet,
Join hands, and then in line advance,
So, to these fair old tunes of France,
Through all their maze of to and fro,
The light-heeled numbers laughing go
Retreat, return, and ere they flee,
One moment pause in panting row,
And seem to say-Vos plaudite!

ROSE-LEAVES.

(TRIOLETS.)

"Sans peser.-Sans rester."

A KISS.

ROSE kissed me to-day.

Will she kiss me to-morrow?

Let it be as it may,

Rose kissed me to-day.

But the pleasure gives way

To a savour of sorrow ;

Rose kissed me to-day,—

Will she kiss me to-morrow?

CIRCE.

IN the School of Coquettes

Madam Rose is a scholar :

O, they fish with all nets
In the School of Coquettes !
When her brooch she forgets

'Tis to show her new collar; In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar!

1874.

A TEAR.

THERE's a tear in her eye,—

Such a clear little jewel!

What can make her cry?

There's a tear in her eye.
"Puck has killed a big fly,-

And it 's horribly cruel;"
There's a tear in her eye,—
Such a clear little jewel!

A GREEK GIFT.

HERE's a present for Rose,
How pleased she is looking!
Is it verse ?-is it prose?
Here's a present for Rose !

‚” “Entrées,” and “Rôts,”

"Plats,'

Why, it's "Gouffé on Cooking"!

Here's a present for Rose,

How pleased she is looking!

"URCEUS EXIT.”

I INTENDED an Ode,

And it turned to a Sonnet.

It began à la mode,

I intended an Ode;

But Rose crossed the road

In her latest new bonnet ;
I intended an Ode,

And it turned to a Sonnet.

"PERSICOS ODI."

(TRIOLETS.)

DAVUS, I detest

Orient display;

Wreaths on linden drest, Davus, I detest.

Let the late rose rest

Where it fades away :

Davus, I detest

Orient display.

Naught but myrtle twine

Therefore, Boy, for me

Sitting 'neath the vine,— Naught but myrtle twine; Fitting to the wine,

Not unfitting thee; Naught but myrtle twine Therefore, Boy, for me.

L

THE WANDERER.

(RONDEL.)

OVE comes back to his vacant dwelling,

The old, old Love that we knew of yore! We see him stand by the open door,

With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling.

He makes as though in our arms repelling,
He fain would lie as he lay before ;-
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling,-
The old, old Love that we knew of yore!

Ah, who shall help us from over-spelling
That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore!

E'en as we doubt in our heart once more,
With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling,
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling.

1878.

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