’Twas her’s, not mine—yet strange to tell
Moons waxed and waned and years flew by,
Ere she had learned love’s sacred spell
By touch of hand and glance of eye.
Moons waxed and waned and years flew by,
I thought she loved, alas! not me;
By touch of hand and glance of eye
The truth was told—ah! ecstasy!
I thought she loved, alas! not me—
Within my heart there fell a hush,
The truth was told ah! ecstasy!
When first I saw my lady blush.
THE RONDEAU.
First find your refrain—then build as you go
With delicate touch, neither heavy nor slow,
But dainty and light as a gossamer thread,
Or the fleecy white cloud that is breaking o’erhead,
Or the sea-foam that curls in the soft evening glow;
And your rhyme must be swinging—not all in a row,
But as waves on the sands in fine ebb and quick flow;
Yet of rules for a rondeau I hold this the head—
First find your refrain.
For the subject—there’s nothing above or below,
That a poet can learn or a critic may know,
But a rondeau will hold a rhyme-ring that will wed
The thought to the thing; yet whatever is said
Will ne’er be a rondeau till you with one blow—
First find your refrain.
WINTER.
Winter’s blast is coldly sweeping
O’er the pallid face of earth;
All the merry elves are sleeping,
Wearied out with last year’s mirth;
Dismal spirits doomed to wander,
Never resting anywhere,
Chase the sparkling crystals yonder
Through the chill and cheerless air;
Where the birds sang in the branches
Not a sound is heard at all;
Snowy flakes in avalanches
Flutter down with silent fall;
Where the grasses nursed the flowers
Not a sign of life is seen
And the frost has turned the showers
Into sheets of icy sheen;
All the air is sadly sighing,
All the trees with sorrows ring;
All is dying—dying—dying
Winter—go! come back, O Spring.