H.A. RICHMOND. The Tech.
~A Gift.~
My friend holds careless in his palm
A glittering stone.
He does not know a jewel rare
Is all his own.
But in its flashing lights I see
A diamond shine,
And though he holds it in his hand,
The gem is mine.
ELIZABETH REEVE CUTTER. Smith College Monthly.
~Jacqueminot.~
Are you filled with wonder, Jacqueminot,
Do you think me mad that I kiss you so?
If a rose could only its thoughts express,
I'd find you mocking, I more than guess;
And yet if you vow me a fond old fool,
Just think if your own fine pulse was cool
When you lay in her tresses an hour ago,
Jacqueminot.
This pale, proud girl, you must understand,
Held all my fate in her small white hand,
And when I asked her to be my bride,
She wanted a day to think—decide;
And I asked, if her answer were no, she'd wear
A Marshal Niel to the ball in her hair,
But if 'twere yes, she would tell me so
By a Jacqueminot.
My heart found heaven, I had seen my sign,
And after the dance I knew her mine,
And I plucked you out of her warm, soft hair,
As her stately pride stood trembling there,
And I felt in the dark for her lips to kiss,
And I pressed them close to my own like this,
And I held her cheek to my own cheek—so,
Jacqueminot!
FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES. Wesleyan Literary Monthly.