~Lines on a Ring.~
Oh, precious drop of crystal dew,
Set in a tiny band of gold,
Which doth within its little grasp
A blue-veined finger softly hold—
Thou failest if thy radiant rays
Are seeking—bold attempt 'twould be!—
To show a fraction of the love
That beams from Edith's eyes on me.
LOREN M. LUKE. Nassau Literary Monthly.
~A Memory.~
Shadows up the hillside creeping,
Gold in western sky,
Meadow-brook beneath us keeping
Dreamy lullaby.
Soft stars through the pine-trees gleaming—
Gems in dark robes caught—
Everything about us seeming
With hidden meaning fraught.
Sweet dark eyes, upon me turning,
Challenge if I dare,
Vie with amorous sunbeams burning
O'er her face and hair.
But a truce to idle musing—
That was long ago.
Was she gracious or refusing?
You may never know.
Winter's snows those fields are hiding
'Neath a robe of white,
For another she is biding
Tryst of love to-night.
I was only glancing over
A book beloved of yore,
When a sprig of mountain clover
Fluttered to the floor.