Part 4

Is she not like a maiden coy Press'd by some amorous-breathing boy? Tho' coy, she courts him too, Winding away her slender form, She will not have him woo so warm, And yet will have him woo! --_George Darley_

My Lady

I loved her for that she was beautiful; And that to me she seem'd to be all Nature, And all varieties of things in one: Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise All light and laughter in the morning; fear No petty customs nor appearances; But think what others only dream'd about; And say what others did but think; and do What others did but say; and glory in What others dared but do; so pure withal In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet Such perfect innocence, she made round her A halo of delight. 'Twas these which won me;-- And that she never school'd within her breast One thought or feeling, but gave holiday To all; and that she made all even mine In the communion of Love; and we Grew like each other, for we loved each other; She, mild and generous as the air in Spring; And I, like Earth all budding out with love. --_Philip James Bailey_

To a Discarded Toast

Celia, confess 'tis all in vain To patch the ruins of thy face; Nor of ill-natur'd time complain, That robs it of each blooming grace.

If love no more shall bend his bow, Nor point his arrows from thine eye, If no lac'd fop, nor feathered beau, Despairing at thy feet shall die.

Yet still, my charmer, wit like thine Shall triumph over age and fate; Thy setting beams with lustre shine, And rival their meridian height.

Beauty, fair flower! soon fades away, And transient are the joys of love; But wit, and virtue ne'er decay, Ador'd below, and bless'd above. --_William Somerville_

The Bonnie Wee Thing

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine.

Wishfully I look and languish In that bonnie face o' thine; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, In ae constellation shine; To adore thee is my duty, Goddess o' this sould of mine. --_Robert Burns_

Song from "The Princess"

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font; The firefly wakens: waken thou with me. Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. --_Alfred Tennyson_

Song

She is not fair to outward view As many maidens be; Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me; O, then I saw her eye was bright, A well of love, a spring of light!

But now her looks are coy and cold, To mine they ne'er reply, And yet I cease not to behold The love-light in her eye: Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are. --_Hartley Coleridge_

To a Lofty Beauty, from Her Poor Kinsman

Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries, Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude, Thy mazy motions, striving to elude, Yet wooing still a parent's watchful eyes, Thy humours, many as the opal's dyes, And lovely all;--methinks thy scornful mood, And bearing high of stately womanhood,-- Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize O'er humble love, had made me sadly fear thee; For never sure was seen a royal bride, Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride-- My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee: But when I see thee at thy father's side, Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee. --_Hartley Coleridge_

Time of Roses

It was not in the Winter Our loving lot was cast; It was the time of roses-- We pluck'd them as we pass'd!

That churlish season never frown'd On early lovers yet: O no--the world was newly crown'd With flowers when first we met!

'Twas twilight, and I bade you go But still you held me fast; It was the time of roses-- We pluck'd them as we pass'd! --_Thomas Hood_

Hermione

Thou hast beauty bright and fair, Manner noble, aspect free, Eyes that are untouch'd by care; What then do we ask from thee? Hermione, Hermione!

Thou hast reason quick and strong, Wit that envious men admire, And a voice, itself a song! What then can we still desire? Hermione, Hermione!

Something thou dost want, O queen! (As the gold doth ask alloy), Tears--amidst thy laughter seen, Pity--mingling with thy joy. This is all we ask from thee, Hermione, Hermione! --_Bryan Waller Proctor_

Delia

Fair the face of orient day, Fair the tints of op'ning rose; But fairer still my Delia dawns, More lovely far her beauty blows.

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, Sweet the tinkling rill to hear; But, Delia, more delightful still, Steal thine accents on mine ear.

The flower-enamour'd busy bee The rosy banquet loves to sip; Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip.

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! O let me steal one liquid kiss! For oh! my soul is parch'd with love. --_Robert Burns_

Speaking and Kissing

The air which thy smooth voice doth break, Into my soul like lightning flies; My life retires while thou dost speak, And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing ecstasy, I join my trembling lips to thine, And back receive that life from thee Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, Platonic fools! t'inquire What numbers do the soul compose; No harmony can life inspire But that which from these accents flows. --_Thomas Stanley_

A Rondeau to Ethel

"In tea-cup times"! The style of dress Would meet your beauty, I confess; Belinda-like, the patch you'd wear; I picture you the powdered hair,-- You'd make a charming Shepherdess!

And I--no doubt--could well express Sir Plume's complete conceitedness,-- Could poise a clouded cane with care "In tea-cup times"!

The parts would fit precisely--yes; We should achieve a huge success! You should disdain, and I despair, With quite the true Augustan air; But ... could I love you more, or less,-- "In tea-cup times"? --_Austin Dobson_

The Nun

If you become a nun, dear, A friar I will be; In any cell you run, dear, Pray look behind for me. The roses all turn pale, too; The doves all take the veil, too; The blind will see the show. What! you become a nun, my dear? I'll not believe it, no!

If you become a nun, dear, The bishop Love will be; The Cupids every one, dear, Will chant "We trust in thee." The incense will go sighing, The candles fall a-dying, The water turn to wine; What! you go take the vows, my dear? You may--but they'll be mine! --_Leigh Hunt_

Under the Wattle

"Why should not Wattle do For Mistletoe? Ask'd one--they were but two-- Where wattles grow.

He was her lover, too, Who urged her so-- "Why should not Wattle do For Mistletoe?"

A rose-cheek rosier grew; Rose-lips breathed low-- "Since it is here--and You-- I hardly know Why Wattle should not do." --_Douglas Brook Wheelton Sladen_

Eutopia

There is a garden where lilies And roses are side by side; And all day between them in silence The silken butterflies glide.

I may not enter the garden, Tho' I know the road thereto; And morn by morn to the gateway I see the children go.

They bring back light on their faces; But they cannot bring back to me What the lilies say to the roses, Or the songs of the butterflies be. --_Francis Turner Palgrave_

Designed and Printed in the Shop of P. F. Volland Company Chicago

End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Old Time Verse, by Various