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And yet for one word spoken,
One whisper of regret,
Jenny kissed Me.
I LOVED him not; and yet, now he is gone,
I feel I am alone.
Alas! I would not check.
And wearied all my thought
My love, could he but live
'Twas vain, in holy ground
I waste for him my breath
And this lone bosom burns
And waking me to weep
Wept he as bitter tears !
“ These may she never share!" Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold
Than daisies in the mould,
His name and life's brief date.
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
JENNY kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in. Say I'm weary, say I'm sad ;
Say that health and wealth have missed me; Say I'm growing old, but add - Jenny kissed me!
Song. I BADE thee stay. Too well I know
The fault was mine, mine only: I dared not think upon the past,
All desolate and lonely.
I feared in memory's silent air
Too sadly to regret thee, Feared in the night of my despair
I could not all forget thee.
Yet go, ah, go! Those pleading eyes,
Those low, sweet tones, appealing From heart to heart; ah, dare I trust
That passionate revealing!
A Song of Autumn.
All through the golden weather
Until the autumn fell, Our lives went by together
So wildly and so well.
For ah, those keen and pleading eyes
Evoke too keen a sorrow,
With thy wild vows to-morrow.
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride
May say, of what has been,
Though all the rest was mean!
And I kept the glove so dainty and small,
That I stole as she sipped her lemonade,
Of those traps I lost in our Northern raid.
My speech is rude, but speech is weak
But I never can list to that waltz divine,
With its golden measure of joy and pain,
But it brings like the flavor of some old wine
To my heart the warmth of the past again.
A short flirtation - that's all, you know,
Some faded flowers, a silken tress,
The letters I burned up years ago,
When I heard from her last in the Wilderness.
I suppose, could she see I am maimed and old,
When I chose the bars of the gray and gold,
And followed the South to its bitter fate. 'Twas Commencement eve, and the ball-room belle
But here's to the lads of the Northern blue, In her dazzling beauty was mine that night,
And here's to the boys of the Southern gray, As the music dreamily rose and fell,
And I would that the Northern star but knew And the waltzers whirled in a blaze of light:
How the Southern cross is borne to-day. I can see them now in the moonbeam's glance
L. C. STRONG. Across the street on a billowy floor, That rises and falls with the merry dance, To a music that floats in my heart once more.
I went to her who loveth me no more,
And prayed her bear with me, if so she might;
For I had found day after day too sore, A dream of satins and love and lace.
And tears that would not cease night after night.
To let me be with her a little; yea,
To soothe myself a little with her sight,
Who loved me once, ah! many a night and day. All in a dream of Commencement eve!
Then she who loveth me no more, maybe I remember I awkwardly buttoned a glove
She pitied somewhat: and I took a chain On the dainty arm in its flowing sleeve,
To bind myself to her, and her to me; With a broken sentence of hope and love.
Yea, so that I might call her mine again. But the diamonds that flashed in her wavy hair,
Lo! she forbade me not; but I and she And the beauty that shone in her faultless face,
Fettered her fair limbs, and her neck more fair, Are all I recall as I struggled there,
Chained the fair wasted white of love's domain, A poor brown fly in a web of lace.
And put gold fetters on her golden hair.
Oh! the vain joy it is to see her lie
Her hair, her hand, her body, till she die,
All mine, for me to do with as I please!
For, after all, I find no chain whereby
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem To chain her heart to love me as before,
Of trees, in circular array—so fixed,
Gazing — the one on all that was beneath;
And both were young — yet not alike in youth.
As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,
The boy had fewer summers; but his heart
There was but one beloved face on earth, Death and existence: sleep hath its own world, And that was shining on him; he had looked And a wide realm of wild reality;
Upon it till it could not pass away; And dreams in their development have breath, He had no breath, no being, but in hers; And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; She was his voice; he did not speak to her, They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts; But trembled on her words; she was his sight, They take a weight from off our waking toils; For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers, They do divide our being; they become
Which colored all his objects; he had ceased A portion of ourselves as of our time,
To live within himself; she was his life, And look like heralds of eternity ;
The ocean to the river of his thoughts, They pass like spirits of the past, they speak Which terminated all; upon a tone, Like sibyls of the future; they have power — A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
And his cheek change tempestuously, his heart They make us what we were not — what they | Unknowing of its cause of agony. will;
But she in these fond feelings had no share: They shake us with the vision that's gone by,
Her sighs were not for him; to her he was The dread of vanished shadows. Are they so ? Even as a brother, but no more; 'twas much ; Is not the past all shadow? What are they? For brotherless she was, save in the name Creations of the mind 1- the mind can make
Her infant friendship had bestowed on him,
Herself the solitary scion left
Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not — and I would recall a vision, which I dreamed
why? Perchance in sleep; for in itself a thought, Time taught him a deep answer — when she loved A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
Another. Even now she loved another ;
And on the summit of that hill she stood
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :
Its walls there was a steed caparisoned.
Within an antique oratory stood
He sate him down, and seized a pen and traced