LOVE'S TIMIDITY.

I Do not ask to offer thee

A timid love like mine;

I lay it as the rose is laid

On some immortal shrine.

I have no hope in loving thee,
I only ask to love;

I brood upon my silent heart,

As on its nest the dove.
But little have I been beloved,
Sad, silent, and alone :
And yet I feel, in loving thee,

The wide world is mine own.

Thine is the name I breathe to Heaven,

Thy face is on my sleep;

I only ask that love like this

May pray for thee and weep.

L. E. LANDON.

Poetical Works. (Routledge.)

TO ELECTRA.

I DARE not ask a kiss,

I dare not beg a smile;

Lest having that, or this,

I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share

Of my desire shall be,

Only to kiss that air

That lately kissèd thee.

ROBERT HERRICK.

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOUR-
TEENTH OF FEBRUARY.
DARKNESS Succeeds to twilight:
Through lattice and through skylight
The stars, no doubt, if one looked out,
Might be observed to shine:
And sitting by the embers
I elevate my members

On a stray chair, and then and there
Commence a Valentine.

Yea! by St. Valentinus,

Emma shall not be minus

What all young ladies, whate'er their grade is Expect to-day no doubt:

Emma the fair, the stately

Whom I beheld so lately,

Smiling beneath the snow-white wreath
Which told that she was "out."

Wherefore fly to her, swallow,

And mention that I'd "follow,"
And "pipe and trill," et cetera, till
I died, had I but wings :

Say the North's "true and tender,"
The South an old offender;

And hint, in fact, with your well-known tact,
All kinds of pretty things.

Say I grow hourly thinner,

Simply abhor my dinner

Tho' I do try and absorb some viand
Each day, for form's sake merely :
And ask her, when all's ended,

And I am found extended,

With vest blood-spotted, and cut carotid,

To think on Hers sincerely.

C. S. CALVERLEY.

Verses and Translations. (Deighton, Bell, and Co.)

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STILL, I love thee dearly:

Though I make (I feel)

Love a little queerly,

I'm as true as steel.

C. S. CALVERLEY. Fly Leaves. (Bell.)

IMITATED FROM THE WELSH.

IF, while my passion I impart,

You deem my words untrue, O place your hand upon my heart— Feel how it throbs for you.

Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim
In pity to your Lover!

That thrilling touch would aid the flame,
It wishes to discover.

S. T. COLEridge.