I passed on my way, with an odd little smart
Beneath my vest pocket, in what's called the heart.
For, as it happens, my name, too, is Will;
And that voice crying "darling" sent such a strange thrill
Throughout my whole being. "How nice it would be,"
Thought I, "if it were in reality me
That she's watched and longed for, instead of that lout."
(It was envy made me use that word, no doubt,
For he's a fine fellow, and handsome, ahem!)
But then it's absurd that this rare little gem
Of a woman, should be on the look-out for him,
Till she brings on a headache, and makes her eyes dim,
While I go to lodgings, dull, dreary, and bare,
With no one to welcome me, no one to care
If I'm early, or late--no soft eyes of brown
To watch when I go to, or come from, the town.
This bleak, wretched bachelor life, is about,
If I may be allowed the expression--played out.
Somewhere there must be, in this wide world, I think,
Another fair woman, who dresses in pink.
And I know of a cottage for sale just below,
And it has a French window, in front, and--heigho
I wonder how long, at the longest, 'twill be,
Before coming home from the office I'll see
A nice little woman there, watching for me.
[ONLY A KISS.]
Once, when the summer lay on the hilltops,
And the sunshine fell like a golden flame,
Out from the city's dust and turmoil
A gallant, fair-faced stranger came--
Came to rest in our humble cottage
Till the winds of autumn should blow again,
To walk in the meadow and lie by the brooklet,
And woo back the strength, that the town had slain.
I was young, with the foolish heart of a maiden
That had never been wooed, and the stranger bland
Awoke that heart from its idle dreaming,
And swept the strings with a master-hand.
I remember the thrill, and the first wild tremor,
That stirred its depths with a sweet surprise,
When I glanced one day at the handsome stranger,
And caught the gaze of his deep, dark eyes.
My cheek grew red with its tell-tale blushes,
And the knitting dropped from my nerveless grasp;
He stooped, and then, as he gracefully gave it,
He held my hand in a loving clasp;
We said no word, but he knew my secret,
He read what lay in my maiden heart,
No vain concealing was needed longer
To hide the tremor his voice would start.
We walked in the meadow and by the brooklet,
My sun-browned hand in his snowy palm;
He said my blushes would shame the roses,
And my heart stood still in a blissful calm.
He stroked my tresses, my raven ringlets,
And twined them over his finger fair;
My eyes' dark splendor was full of danger,
He said, for Cupid was lurking there.
And once he held me close to his bosom,
And pressed on my lips a loving kiss;
Oh! how I tremble with shame and anger,
Even now, as I think of this--
But in that moment, I thought that heaven
Had suddenly opened and drawn me in,
And kissed with passion the lips, so near me,
Nor dreamed I was staining my soul with sin.
But there came a letter one quiet evening
To the man who was dearer to me than life--
"A picture," he said, as he tore it open,
"Look, sweet friend, at my fair young wife."
A terrible anguish, a seething anger,
Heaved my bosom and blanched my cheek,
And he who stood there holding the letter,
He watched me smiling, but did not speak.
I took the picture and gazed upon it--
A sweet young creature with sunny hair
And eyes of blue. "May the good Lord keep you,"
I said aloud, "in his tender care--
You who are wedded and bound forever
Unto this man," and I met his eyes--
"This soulless villain, this shameless coward,
Whose heart is blackened with acted lies."