A GAME OF CHESS. MORTIMER COLLINS. I. ERRACE and lawn are white with frost, Whose fretwork flowers upon the A mocking dream of summer, lost 'Mid winter's icy chains. panes II. White-hot, indoors, the great logs gleam, Veiled by a flickering flame of blue: I see my love as in a dream— Her eyes are azure, too. III. She binds her hair behind her ears (Each little ear so like a shell), Touches her ivory Queen, and fears She is not playing well. 106 A GAME OF CHESS. IV. For me, I think of nothing less: I think how those pure pearls become her- And which is sweetest, winter chess Or garden strolls in summer. V. O linger, frost, upon the pane! O faint blue flame, still softly rise! O dear one, thus with me remain, That I may watch thine eyes! AD CHLOEN, M. A., Fresh from her Cambridge Examination. MORTIMER COLLINS. DADY, very fair are you, And your eyes are very blue,— And brow is like the snow, your And the various things you know Goodness knows. And the rose-flush on your cheek, And your Algebra and Greek Perfect are; And that loving lustrous eye Recognises in the sky Every star. If by an arrangement dual I were Adams mixed with Whewell, Then some day I, as wooer, perhaps might come To so sweet an Artium Magistra. CHLOE, M. A., Ad amantem suum. MORTIMER COLLINS. ARELESS rhymer! it is true That my favourite colour's blue: But am I To be made a victim, sir, If to puddings I prefer Cambridge ? If with giddier girls I play Croquet through the summer day On the turf, Then at night ('tis no great boon) Let me study how the moon Sways the surf. |