It may be so. I would it were,
For I who love and she who dreams;
The world to me is only her.
Can my heart's cry to pity stir
Her heart that silent seems?
O deep eyes, lose your gentle calm;
O fair cheek, lose your tint of rose;
O heart, beat swift with love's alarm,
That I may win with chain and charm,
And hold you till life close.
Lo, sweet, I stand, and gaze and faint
Beneath the wonder of your eyes,
Whose beauty I can praise and paint
Till words and fancy lose restraint,
And fear forgotten dies.
A LOVER gave the wedding ring
Into the goldsmith's hand;
"Grave me," he said, "a tender thought
Within the golden band."
The goldsmith graved
With careful art,
"Till death us part."
The wedding bell rang gladly out;
The husband said, "O wife,
"And when death joins, we nevermore
Shall know an aching heart,
The bridal of that better love
Death has no power to part.
That troth will be,
For thee and me,
Eternity."
So up the hill and down the hill,
Through fifty changing years,
They shared each other's happiness,
They dried each other's tears.
Alas, alas,
That death's cold dart
Such love can part!
But one sad day- she stood alone
Beside his narrow bed;
She drew the ring from off her hand,
And to the goldsmith said:
"O man who graved
With careful art,
'Till death us part,'
"Now grave four other words for me,'Till death us join."" He took The precious golden band once more, With solemn, wistful look,
And wrought with care,
For love, not coin,
"Till death us join."
HE stole from my bodice a rose,
My cheek was its color the while;
But, ah, the sly rogue! he well knows,
Had he asked it, I must have said no.
He snatched from my lips a soft kiss;
I tried at a frown 't was a smile;
For, ah, the sly rogue! he knows this:
Had he asked it, I must have said no.
That "asking" in love's a mistake,
It puts one in mind to refuse;
'Tis best not to ask, but to take;
For it saves one the need to say no.
this is folly I've said;
Some things should be asked if desired; My rogue hopes my promise to wed; When he asks me, I will not say no.
"I DARE not ask a kisse,
I dare not beg a smile,
Lest having that or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be
Only to kisse the aire
That lately kissèd thee."
HER eyes were bright and merry,
She danced in the mazy whirl;
She took the world in its sunshine,
For she was a frivolous girl.
She dressed like a royal princess,
She wore her hair in a curl;
The gossips said, "What a pity
That she's such a frivolous girl!"
(TWENTY YEARS LATER.)
She's a wife, a mother, a woman,
Grand, noble, and pure as a pearl;
While the gossips say, "Would you think it,
Of only a frivolous girl?"
WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS.
Is love contagious?—I don't know;
But this I am prepared to say,
That I have felt for many a day
A great desire to make it so.
Does she vouchsafe a thought of me?
Sometimes I think she does; and then
I'm forced to grope in doubt again,
Which seems my normal state to be.
Why don't I ask, and asking know?
I grant perhaps it might be wise;
But when I look into her eyes,
And hear her voice which thrills me so,
I think that on the whole I won't;
I'd rather doubt than know she don't.
THOU hast diamonds and pearls of rare beauty,
Thou hast all that the heart can admire;
Thine eyes shine far brighter than jewels -
What more can my darling desire?
On thine eyes, bright as stars of the evening,
Have I written and tuned to my lyre
Whole volumes of rapturous sonnets
What more can my darling desire?
With thine eyes of unquenchable splendor
Hast thou kindled my heart into fire,
And forced me to kneel as thy suitor -
What more can my darling desire?
JOHN F. BALLANTYNE.
(From the German of Heine.\
THE PATRON SAINT OF THE IMPOSSIBLE.
HAVE you heard of Santa Rita?
Patron of the hopeless, she;
Fleeting dreams of pleasure fleeter
Under her protection be;
Long have I, with ardor leal,
Sought the maiden of my dreams,
Chasing still my bright ideal,
Like a marsh-light's taunting gleams.
Candles sweet and incense sweeter
Do I vow thee, week by week, –
Give me, lovely Santa Rita!
The ideal girl I seek.
Rich fair eyes, like summer twilight
Ere the stars glint through the blue,
Beaming with a soft and shy light,
Hiding summer lightnings too;
Rich brown hair in wayward cluster,
Rippling down in heavy fold,
Giving in the sunset's lustre
Here and there a gleam of gold;
Fair, sweet face, whose quick expression
Mirrors well the thoughts that flit,
Soft now with love's shy confession,
Brightened now by fire of wit;
Fair, sweet nature, were I bolder
To dispel the doubts that spring,
I would touch her angel shoulder,
Just to feel the budding wing!
Silver voice to charm and fill me
With an ecstasy of sound;
Springing, buoyant step to thrill me
In the waltz's dazing round;
Mind as bright as rainbow's prism,
Wit as keen as archer's dart,
And, to work the mechanism,
Just a little mite of heart.
This my longing, Santa Rita!
This the girl for whom I wait.
Tell me, tell me, shall I meet her
Ere I die disconsolate?
Are my dreams but idle fancy?
Lives there such a maiden rare?
I invoke thy necromancy,·
Santa Rita hear my prayer!
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