Perhaps my rose is over-blown, Not rosy, or too rosy; Perhaps in farm-house of her own Where I should show a face unknown, Good-by, my wayside posy! Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830–1894] "DO YOU REMEMBER" Do you remember when you heard My lips breathe love's first faltering word? When, having wandered all the day, "You'll love me-won't you?" And when you blushed and could not speak, Did that affront you? Oh, surely not-your eye expressed No wrath-but said, perhaps in jest, "You'll love me-won't you? I'm sure my eyes replied, "I will." You do, sweet-don't you? Yes, yes! when age has made our eyes Unfit for questions or replies, You'll love me-won't you? Thomas Haynes Bayly [1797-1839] BECAUSE SWEET Nea! for your lovely sake And can't compose my slumbers; Some witchery o'er my dreaming! Because Because we've passed some joyous days, And old Froissart's romances! Because you've got those long, soft curls, Because your little tiny nose Because you don't object to walk, Because I know you sometimes choose Because I think I'm just so weak My story-and my sorrows; 761 Because the rest's a simple thing, A matter quickly over A church-a priest-a sigh-a ring And a chaise-and-four to Dover. Edward Fitzgerald [1809-1883] I PLAYED with you 'mid cowslips blowing, When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing, We wandered hand in hand together; You grew a lovely roseate maiden, And I did love you very dearly How dearly, words want power to show; Then other lovers came around you, On rank and wealth your hand bestow; And I lived on, to wed another: To Helen My own young flock, in fair progression, You grew a matron plump and comely, No merrier eyes have ever glistened Around the hearth-stone's wintry glow, Than when my youngest child was christened:- Time passed. My eldest girl was married, Among the wild-flowered meads to play. But though first love's impassioned blindness I still have thought of you with kindness, The ever-rolling silent hours Will bring a time we shall not know, When our young days of gathering flowers 763 Thomas Love Peacock [1785-1866] TO HELEN Ir wandering in a wizard's car Through yon blue ether, I were able To fashion of a little star A taper for my Helen's table; "What then?" she asks me with a laughWhy, then, with all heaven's luster glowing, It would not gild her path with half The light her love o'er mine is throwing! Winthrop Mackworth Praed [1802-1839] AT THE CHURCH GATE From "Pendennis" ALTHOUGH I enter not, And near the sacred gate, The Minster bell tolls out And noise and humming; The organ 'gins to swell; She's coming, she's coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; Kneel undisturbed, fair Saint! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute, |