Gertrude.
When first I gazed on Gertrude's face,
Beheld her loveliness and grace;
Her brave gray eyes, her raven hair,
Her ways, more winsome than the kiss
Spring gives the flowers; her smile, that is
Brighter than all the summer air
Made sweet with birds:—I did declare,—
And still declare!—there is no one,
No girl beneath the moon or sun,
So beautiful to look upon!
And to my thoughts, that on her dwell,
Nothing seems more desirable—
Not Ophir gold nor Orient pearls—
Than seems this jewel-girl of girls.
Lydia.
When Autumn's here and days are short,
Let Lydia laugh and, hey!
Straightway 't is May-day in my heart,
And blossoms strew the way.
When Summer's here and days are long,
Let Lydia sigh and, ho!
December's fields I walk among,
And shiver in the snow.
No matter what the Seasons are,
My Lydia is so dear,
My soul admits no Calendar
Of earth when she is near.