In the gloaming, dim discerning,
We can faintly see the book;
Softly stealing, with lore's yearning,—
Gracious heaven! it's the cook!
Yale Record.
~At the Junior Promenade.~
The stars were out and the moon was bright
At the Junior Promenade,
But all the glories of starlit night
Were bated before the splendid sight
Of that merry throng—and my lady in white,
At the Junior Promenade.
Oh, she was tall and wondrous fair
At the Junior Promenade,
Her eyes were stars, and black was her hair,
Her cheeks shone red in the bright light's glare:
I worshiped her quite as I danced with her there,
At the Junior Promenade.
She waltzed with the grace of a goddess divine
At the Junior Promenade.
I held her close, her hand in mine,
My cheek touched the strands of her hair so fine.
A perfume arose from her lips of wine,
At the junior Promenade.
Such seeds of love in my heart were sown
At the Junior Promenade,
Till soon came the end—I was left alone,
And then found out—what I cannot disown—
That I had made love to the chaperone
At the Junior Promenade.
CAREY CULBERTSON. Syllabus.
~El Dorado.~
'Twas a youthful would-be poet,
Gazing with enraptured air
Through the starlight, when a comrade
Found him standing silent there.