“Tick! tick! tick!” goes the old clock in the hall;
The merry hours, the mournful hours
Alike he counts them all,
As he stands erect at his post,
Time’s solemn Sentinel.
A LOVE SONG
Upon a bosom snowy white
A little dimpled chin drops down,
While trembling shy lids hide the light
Of love, new born in eyes dark brown.
A tiny timorous hand seeks mine
For shelter, fluttering like a dove;
And with a rapture half divine
I burn my kisses through its glove.
June’s rosy treasures sweetly blend
Upon her cheek and modest brow,
But only Cupid’s self could lend
The crimson stealing o’er them now.
Her voice makes music of my name,
A heaven of love is in her smile,
Her pure mind, like an altar-flame,
Burns clear and steady all the while.
AUTUMN
Red as blood is Autumn’s gown,
And a flaming fire her crown.
And her fingers sere and scorch,
Each one a destroying torch.
Fever follows in her wake,
Nor the dews her thirst can slake.