On her drooping eyelids, That shines too bright for parting— PHOTOGRAPHED IN 1860. Brown eyes, brown hair, a rich turban hat, Swan neck, tight bodice, sweet lips that part Expressively, carefully laid in your own, Only a kiss! One among many, Taken or given, resented, forgiven; Requested and prized; denied and despised. Here and there cometh one A something to soften A well of sweet water In a desert of dearth. Oh! Youth who did crave it! Oh! Damsel who gave it, in pure love up-springing: To memory clinging, Each will think of it fondly, from that day till Death. Like wind of the South As it plays o'er the flowers So the balm of sweet breath Touches lightly the mouth. One ere the maiden is led to the altar; While bridesmaids are calling, And midst orange blossoms Tear dew-drops are falling. One in the eventide silently blessing; A last gift of remembrance, of fondness a sign Like wavelets of ocean Past numbering, drifting To some unknown shore; Till time is no more. WITHERED FLOWERS. Una Giustificazione. O love beloved in early days! Love of our inmost heart the core. What says the Master in his lays ? True love is love for evermore ! Bee busy garnering of the past, Sweet golden feast of memory's store: Life's paths are strewn with petals frail, Love changes like those leaflets blue That once the maid's fond bosom wore: Now withered forms, devoid of hue, I could not cast the flowers away, A CONSOLATION VALENTINE. Dream of the sunny hours! List not to the cold winds moan; As the falling dying embers Drop on the warm hearth stone. The oxlip fades; The broad leaf'd chesnuts lift their bare cones lorn; Young violets tearful eyes freeze in the wintry dawn. No smiling wood anemones are found; Wind flowering, watching Oread haunted ground For trysting maids that wait in blissful love-spells bound. From cramped old Winter's grasp, and filled the air Till angry spoke Fierce thunder, and far flashed the vivid lightning's glare. Dark loomed the hills; Dull leaden clouds burst into stormy rain; And Winter dragged back poor drenched May again. With shivering chills, Killing the sweet wild flowers that decked her paths in vain. And yet again May scaped from feeble Winter's weakened hold; Of lavrocks soaring where gorse gleams with honied gold. And up the slope Of steep and rugged banks, by ocean's stream, Where those deep yellow blossoms deepest gleam ; That watch at early morn the first bright orient beam. Those happy hours! May played around the cliff that Shakespear crowned With echo never dying; where the mound And Walmer's sentry steps his solitary round. So fresh, so fair! Sweet May runs giddy with delicious balm; And winds about her heart an incense breathing charm! Hangs o'er the wavelet dimpled halcyon sea, The zephyrs' briny breath upon the castled lea. Nature lay basking long in happy guise; Till evening came with tears and moaning sighs, That warns the nightly watch when angry storm waves rise. The shingled beach, Morosely torn by the complaining surge Of greedy waves, groaned back its dismal dirge. Woke the vexed leaden morn on the far eastern verge. In mute despair Earth wept beneath the wintry storm clouds drear: No hope was there, And cowering nature shrank chilled with a ghastly fear! At length the sun, Nearing the tropic, rising fierce and high Looks through the watery clouds with angry eye And casts a pitying ray where the drowned nestlings lie. |