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 pa.s.s"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 pa.s.s"d!
--_Thomas Hood_
Hermione
Thou hast beauty bright and fair, Manner n.o.ble, 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!