« ForrigeFortsett »
AT THE CHURCH GATE.
ALTHOUGH I enter not,
Ofttimes I hover;
Expectant of her.
The minster bell tolls out
And noise and humming ;
She's coming, she's coming!
My lady comes at last,
And hastening hither,
May Heaven go with her!
Like outcast spirits who wait
Angels within it.
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
Up to her chamber window
A slight wire trellis goes, And up this Romeo's ladder
Clambers a bold white rose.
I lounge in the ilex shadows,
I see the lady lean, Unclasping her silken girdle,
The curtain's folds between.
She smiles on her white-rose lover,
She reaches out her hand,
I see it where I stand !
To her scarlet lips she holds him,
And kisses him many a timeAh, me! it was he that won her
Because he dared to climb !
T. B. ALDRICH.
But now her looks are coy and cold,
To mine they ne'er reply,
The love-light in her eye:
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one to the other given : I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven : My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it bides:
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY,
FEAR no more the heat o' the sun
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Home art gone and ta’en thy wages :