The blossoms on the pumpkin vine
Are weeping diamond tears of dew;
'Tis warm, the flowers are wilting fast,
My linen, too, my linen, too.
All motionless the cedars stand,
With silent moonbeams glancing through,
The very air is drowsy, love,
And I am, too, and I am, too.
Oh, could I soar on loving wings,
And at your window gently woo!
But then your lattice you would bolt,
So I'll bolt, too, so I'll bolt, too.
L.M.L. Columbia Spectator.
~Love's Secret.~
Well I know she is not handsome,
She can neither sing nor dance,
But I strangely am attracted
By each careless nod and glance
Of my Madeline.
Quite a philanthropic feeling
Is my love, so true and rare,
For she's burdened with great riches;
In which burden I would share
With my Madeline.
From such heavy care to shield her,
Each and every purpose tends.
I will help to clip the coupons,
And I'll draw the dividends
Of my Madeline.
ROBERT PECK BATES. Trinity Tablet.
~Pity 'tis, 'tis True.~