Page images
PDF
EPUB

E ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE

R Rose! I lift you from the street ar better I should own you,

n you should lie for random feet, Where careless hands have thrown you!

r pinky petals, crushed and torn!
Did heartless Mayfair use you,
en cast you forth to lie forlorn,
"or chariot wheels to bruise you?

w you last in Edith's hair.
lose, you would scarce discover
at I she passed upon the stair
Vas Edith's favored lover.

[ocr errors]

nonth - "a little month' ago

) theme for moral writer!

vixt

you and me, my Rose, you know,

She might have been politer;

THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE

But let that pass. She gave you then

Behind the oleander

To one, perhaps, of all the men,

Who best could understand her,

Cyril that, duly flattered, took,

As only Cyril's able,

With just the same Arcadian look
He used, last night, for Mabel;

Then, having waltzed till every star
Had paled away in morning,

Lit up his cynical cigar,

And tossed you downward, scorning.

Kismet, my Rose! Revenge is sweet,

She made my heart-strings quiver;

And yet

You sha'n't lie in the street,

I'll drop you in the River.

AUSTIN DOBSON

THE LOOK

STREPHON kissed me in the spring,

Robin in the fall,

But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,

But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.

SARA TEASDALE

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

SHE came she is gone

we have met

And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,

And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream,
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.

That last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,

Our progress as often delay'd

By the nightingale warbling nigh.

We paused under many a tree,

And much was she charm'd with a tone,

Less sweet to Maria and me,

Who so lately had witness'd her own.

CATHARINA

numbers that day she had sung, And gave them a grace so divine, only her musical tongue

Could infuse into numbers of mine.

e longer I heard, I esteem'd

The work of my fancy the more,
d e'en to myself never seem'd
So tuneful a poet before.

ough the pleasures of London exceed In number the days of the year, _tharina, did nothing impede, Would feel herself happier here; r the close-woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know, e sweeter to her many times Than aught that the city can show.

it is, when the mind is endued With a well-judging taste from above, en, whether embellish'd or rude, "T is nature alone that we love.

« PreviousContinue »