Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

THANK thee, dear, for words that fleet,
For looks that long endure,

For all caresses simply sweet
And passionately pure;

For blushes mutely understood,
For silence and for sighs,
For all the yearning womanhood
Of grey love-laden eyes.

Oh how in words to tell the rest?
My bird, my child, my dove!
Behold I render best for best,
I bring thee love for love.

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.

MY NEIGHBOUR.

DOVE thou thy Neighbour," we are told,
"Even as thyself." That creed I hold;
But love her more, a thousand-fold!

My lovely Neighbour; oft we meet
In lonely lane, or crowded street;

I know the music of her feet.

She little thinks how, on a day,
She must have missed her usual way,
And walked into my heart for aye:

Or how the rustle of her dress
Thrills thro' me like a soft caress,
With trembles of deliciousness.

Wee woman, with her smiling mien,
And soul celestially serene,

She passes me, unconscious Queen!

Her face most innocently good,
Where shyly peeps the sweet red blood:

Her form a nest of Womanhood!

Like Raleigh-for her dainty tread,
When ways are miry-I could spread
My cloak, but, there's my heart instead.

Ah, Neighbour, you will never know
Why 'tis my step is quickened so;
Nor what the prayer I murmur low.

I see you 'mid your flowers at morn,
Fresh as the rosebud newly born;
I marvel, can you have a thorn?

If so, 'twere sweet to lean one's breast
Against it, and, the more it prest,
Sing like the Bird that sorrow hath blest.

I hear you sing! And thro' me Spring
Doth musically ripple and ring;
Little you think I'm listening!

You know not, dear, how dear you be ;
All dearer for the secrecy :

Nothing, and yet a world to me.

So near, too! you could hear me sigh,
Or see my case with half an eye;
But must not. There are reasons why.

GERALD MASSEY.

BLANCHE.

@ERE I a breath of summer air,
I'd wander over bank and lea,
And bring, from every wild-flower there,
Sweet messages of love to thee.

Were I a stream, with low soft song,
I'd woo thee to some green retreat,
And linger as I pass'd along,

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;
In dreams thy angel face I see ;
I bid my thoughts to others turn,
My thoughts unbidden turn to thee.

Such love thyself mayst live to prove ;
Yet thine will be unmixed with pain,
For never, surely, canst thou love,
But thou wilt be beloved again.

JAMES HEDDERWICK.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »