GERTRUDE'S GLOVE. LIPS of a kid-skin deftly sewn, A scent as through her garden blown, A glove but lately dofft, for look- Warm from her touch! What gave the glow? It clasp'd the hand, so pure, so sleek, Your fingers four, you little thumb! I'd clasp, and kiss,-I'd keep her-go! FREDERICK LOCKER. ANGELICA. AIR is my Love, so fair, I shudder with the sense Of what a light the world would lose Sweet is my Love, so sweet, The leaves that, fold on fold, Swathe up the odours of the rose, Less sweetness hold. True is my Love, so true, Dear is my Love, so dear, My eyes with tears of rapture swim, Spare her, immortals, spare, Mine holds but one. WILLIAM SAWYER. A GARDEN IDYLL. have loiter'd and laugh'd in the flowery croft, We have met under wintry skies; Her voice is the dearest voice, and soft Is the light in her wistful eyes; It is sweet in the silent woods, among Gay crowds, or in any place To hear her voice, to gaze on her young For ever may roses divinely blow, And wine-dark pansies charm By the prim box-path where I felt the glow Of her dimpled, trusting arm; And the sweep of her silk as she turn'd and smil'd, A smile as fair as her pearls; The breeze was in love with the darling child, She show'd me her ferns and woodbine sprays, Foxglove and jasmine stars, A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze Of red in the celadon jars: And velvety bees in convolvulus bells, Oh, who would think that summer spells For a glad song came from the milking-shed, And the green was golden above her head, Sweet were the lips where that sunbeam dwelt- As I gazed; and neither spoke, for we felt And the odorous limes were dim above FREDERICK LOCKER. |