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A LOVE-THOUGHT.

3LL down the linden-alley's morning shade Thy form with childly raptures I pursue; No hazel-bowered brook can seek the glade With steps more joyous or with course more true.

But when all haste and hope I reach my goal,
And Thou at once thy full and earnest eyes
Turnest upon me, my encumbered soul
Bows down in shame and trembles with surprise.

I rise exalted on thy moving grace,
Peace and goodwill in all thy voice I hear;
Yet if the sudden wonders of thy face

Fall on me, joy is weak and turns to fear.

RICHARD, LORD HOUGHTON.

NOCTURNE.

ITALY.

P to her chamber window
A slight wire trellis goes,
And up this Romeo's ladder
Clambers a bold white rose.

I lounge in the ilex shadows,
I see the lady lean,
Unclasping her silken girdle,

The curtain's folds between.

She smiles on her white-rose lover,
She reaches out her hand
And helps him at the window-
I see it where I stand!

To her scarlet lip she holds him,
And kisses him many a time—
Ah, me! it was he that won her,
Because he dared to climb!

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

HAME upon you, Robin,

Shame upon you now!

Kiss me would you? with my hands
Milking the cow?

Daisies grow again,

Kingcups blow again,

And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.

Robin came behind me,

Kissed me well, I vow;

Cuff him could I? with my hands

Milking the cow?

Swallows fly again,

Cuckoos cry again,

And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow.

Come, Robin, Robin,

Come and kiss me now;

Help it can I? with my hands

Milking the cow?

Ringdoves coo again,

All things woo again.

Come behind and kiss me milking the cow.

ALFRED TENNYSON.
E

PANSIE.

AME, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet,
In white, to find her lover.

The grass grew proud beneath her feet,
The green elm leaves above her—
Meet we no angels, Pansie?

She said, "We meet no angels now,"

And soft lights streamed upon her;
And with white hand she touched a bough,
She did it that great honour-

What, meet no angels, Pansie?

Oh sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes,
Down-dropp'd brown eyes so tender;

Then what, said I? gallant replies
Seem flattery and offend her;
But-meet no angels, Pansie?

THOMAS ASHE.

B

EVEY.

UD and leaflet, opening slowly,

Woo'd with tears by winds of Spring, Now, of June persuaded wholly, Perfumes, flow'rs, and shadows bring.

Evey, in the linden-alley,

All alone I met to-day,

Tripping to the sunny valley

Spread across with new-mown hay.

Brown her soft curls, sunbeam-sainted,
Golden, in the wavering flush ;
Darker brown her eyes are, painted
Eye and fringe with one soft brush.

Through the leaves a careless comer,
Never nymph of fount or tree
Could have press'd the floor of summer
With a lighter foot than she.

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