A cloud passed kindly overhead, The moon was slyly peeping through it, Yet hid its face, as if it said - "Come, now or never! do it! do it!"
My lips till then had only known The kiss of mother and of sister, - But somehow, full upon her own Sweet, rosy, darling mouth, - I kissed her!
Perhaps 'twas boyish love: yet still, O listless woman! weary lover! To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill I'd give - but who can live youth over?
Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908]
THE WHITE FLAG
I sent my love two roses, - one As white as driven snow, And one a blushing royal red, A flaming Jacqueminot.
I meant to touch and test my fate; That night I should divine, The moment I should see my love, If her true heart were mine.
For if she holds me dear, I said, She'll wear my blushing rose; If not, she'll wear my cold Lamarque, As white as winter's snows.
My heart sank when I met her: sure I had been overbold, For on her breast my pale rose lay In virgin whiteness cold.
Yet with low words she greeted me, With smiles divinely tender; Upon her cheek the red rose dawned, - The white rose meant surrender.
John Hay [1838-1905]
A SONG OF THE FOUR SEASONS
When Spring comes laughing By vale and hill, By wind-flower walking And daffodil, - Sing stars of morning, Sing morning skies, Sing blue of speedwell, - And my Love's eyes.
When comes the Summer, Full-leaved and strong, And gay birds gossip The orchard long, - Sing hid, sweet honey That no bee sips; Sing red, red roses, - And my Love's lips.
When Autumn scatters The leaves again, And piled sheaves bury The broad-wheeled wain, - Sing flutes of harvest Where men rejoice; Sing rounds of reapers, - And my Love's voice.
But when comes Winter With hail and storm, And red fire roaring And ingle warm, - Sing first sad going Of friends that part; Then sing glad meeting, - And my Love's heart.
Austin Dobson [1840-1921]
THE LOVE-KNOT
Tying her bonnet under her chin, She tied her raven ringlets in; But not alone in the silken snare Did she catch her lovely floating hair, For, tying her bonnet under her chin, She tied a young man's heart within.
They were strolling together up the hill, Where the wind came blowing merry and chill; And it blew the curls, a frolicsome race, All over the happy peach-colored face. Till, scolding and laughing, she tied them in, Under her beautiful, dimpled chin.
And it blew a color, bright as the bloom Of the pinkest fuchsia's tossing plume, All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl That ever imprisoned a romping curl, Or, in tying her bonnet under her chin, Tied a young man's heart within.
Steeper and steeper grew the hill, Madder, merrier, chillier still The western wind blew down, and played The wildest tricks with the little maid, As, tying her bonnet under her chin, She tied a young man's heart within.
O western wind, do you think it was fair To play such tricks with her floating hair? To gladly, gleefully, do your best To blow her against the young man's breast, Where he as gladly folded her in, And kissed her mouth and her dimpled chin?
Ah! Ellery Vane, you little thought, An hour ago, when you besought This country lass to walk with you, After the sun had dried the dew, What terrible danger you'd be in, As she tied her bonnet under her chin!
Nora Perry [1832-1896]
RIDING DOWN
Oh, did you see him riding down, And riding down, while all the town Came out to see, came out to see, And all the bells rang mad with glee?
Oh, did you hear those bells ring out, The bells ring out, the people shout, And did you hear that cheer on cheer That over all the bells rang clear?
And did you see the waving flags, The fluttering flags, the tattered flags, Red, white, and blue, shot through and through; Baptized with battle's deadly dew?
And did you hear the drums' gay beat, The drums' gay beat, the bugles sweet, The cymbals' clash, the cannons' crash, That rent the sky with sound and flash?
And did you see me waiting there, Just waiting there, and watching there. One little lass, amid the mass That pressed to see the hero pass?
And did you see him smiling down, And smiling down, as riding down With slowest pace, with stately grace, He caught the vision of a face, -
My face uplifted red and white, Turned red and white with sheer delight, To meet the eyes, the smiling eyes, Outflashing in their swift surprise?
Oh, did you see how swift it came, How swift it came like sudden flame, That smile to me, to only me. The little lass who blushed to see?
And at the windows all along, Oh, all along, a lovely throng Of faces fair, beyond compare, Beamed out upon him riding there!
Each face was like a radiant gem, A sparkling gem, and yet for them No swift smile came like sudden flame, No arrowy glance took certain aim.
He turned away from all their grace, From all that grace of perfect face, He turned to me, to only me, The little lass who blushed to see!
Nora Perry [1832-1896]
"FORGETTIN"
The night when last I saw my lad His eyes were bright an' wet. He took my two hands in his own, "'Tis well," says he, "we're met. Asthore machree! the likes o' me I bid ye now forget."
Ah, sure the same's a thriflin' thing, 'Tis more I'd do for him! I mind the night I promised well, Away on Ballindim. - An' every little while or so I thry forgettin' Jim.
It shouldn't take that long to do, An' him not very tall: 'Tis quare the way I'll hear his voice, A boy that's out o' call, - An' whiles I'll see him stand as plain As e'er a six-fut wall.
Och, never fear, my jewel! I'd forget ye now this minute, If I only had a notion O' the way I should begin it; But first an' last it isn't known The heap o' throuble's in it.
Meself began the night ye went An' hasn't done it yet; I'm nearly fit to give it up, For where's the use to fret? - An' the memory's fairly spoilt on me Wid mindin' to forget.
Moira O'Neill [18
"ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE"
How often in the summer-tide, His graver business set aside, Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, As to the pipe of Pan, Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride Across the fields to Anne.
It must have been a merry mile, This summer stroll by hedge and stile, With sweet foreknowledge all the while How sure the pathway ran To dear delights of kiss and smile, Across the fields to Anne.
The silly sheep that graze to-day, I wot, they let him go his way, Nor once looked up, as who would say: "It is a seemly man." For many lads went wooing aye Across the fields to Anne.
The oaks, they have a wiser look; Mayhap they whispered to the brook: "The world by him shall yet be shook, It is in nature's plan; Though now he fleets like any rook Across the fields to Anne."
And I am sure, that on some hour Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, He stooped and broke a daisy-flower With heart of tiny span, And bore it as a lover's dower Across the fields to Anne.
While from her cottage garden-bed She plucked a jasmin's goodlihede, To scent his jerkin's brown instead; Now since that love began, What luckier swain than he who sped Across the fields to Anne?
The winding path whereon I pace, The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, Are still before me face to face; Methinks I almost can Turn port and join the singing race Across the fields to Anne.
Richard Burton [1861-
PAMELA IN TOWN
The fair Pamela came to town, To London town, in early summer; And up and down and round about The beaux discussed the bright newcomer, With "Gadzooks, sir," and "Ma'am, my duty," And "Odds my life, but 'tis a Beauty!"
To Ranelagh went Mistress Pam, Sweet Mistress Pam so fair and merry, With cheeks of cream and roses blent, With voice of lark and lip of cherry. Then all the beaux vowed 'twas their duty To win and wear this country Beauty.
And first Frank Lovelace tried his wit, With whispers bold and eyes still bolder; The warmer grew his saucy flame, Cold grew the charming fair and colder. 'Twas "icy bosom" - "cruel beauty" - "To love, sweet Mistress, 'tis a duty."
Then Jack Carew his arts essayed, With honeyed sighs and feigned weeping. Good lack! his billets bound the curls That pretty Pam she wore a-sleeping. Next day these curls had richer beauty, So well Jack's fervor did its duty.
Then Cousin Will came up to view The way Pamela ruled the fashion; He watched the gallants crowd about, And flew into a rustic passion, - Left "Squire, his mark," on divers faces, And pinked Carew beneath his laces.
Alack! one night at Ranelagh The pretty Sly-boots fell a-blushing; And all the mettled bloods looked round To see what caused that telltale flushing. Up stepped a grizzled Poet Fellow To dance with Pam a saltarello.
Then Jack and Frank and Will resolved, With hand on sword and cutting glances, That they would lead that Graybeard forth To livelier tunes and other dances. But who that saw Pam's eyes a-shining With love and joy would see her pining!
And - oons! Their wrath cooled as they looked, - That Poet stared as fierce as any! He was a mighty proper man, With blade on hip and inches many; The beaux all vowed it was their duty To toast some newer, softer Beauty.
Sweet Pam she bridled, blushed and smiled - The wild thing loved and could but show it! Mayhap some day you'll see in town Pamela and her grizzled Poet. Forsooth he taught the rogue her duty, And won her faith, her love, her beauty.