HER WINDOW
Up the gable the roses creep,
Eager to get a little peep
Behind the curtain of snowy lace
That hangs, like a bridal veil, over the face
Of a shy wee window, whose panes glint through
A network of creepers, like eyes of blue.
I needs must stand below, below,
And see them high and higher go
Till their lips are kissing the lattice sill,
And their tendrils toy at their own sweet will
With the casement, so full of tender charms
Since her shadow has lain within its arms.
SHATTERED HOPES
This morn upon the birken tree
The mavis carolled blithe and free;
But—ah, his song was not for me!
Each wild note of his glad refrain
Pierced like an arrow thro’ my brain;
I could have cursed him for his strain.
I saw the sunshine and the flowers,
Each proof of a Creator’s powers;
Yet dull and hateful were the hours.
I cannot weep—the fever dries
The tears within my burning eyes—
The past before my vision flies.
Once more I feel his deep-drawn kiss;
Once more my being thrills with bliss;
Once more I melt with tenderness.
I hear the trembling words that hung
Deep fraught with passion on his tongue,
Till heart and soul with pain are wrung.