And laughed, and prattled in her pride of bliss! "Oh yes! I see it,-Letty's home is there!" And while she hid all England with a kiss, Bright over Europe fell her golden hair. Rev. Charles Tennyson-Turner. CCCCLXXIII. YOUTH AND ART. I. IT once might have been, once only: II. Your trade was with sticks and clay, You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished, III. My business was song, song, song; IV. I earned no more by a warble Than you by a sketch in plaster; I needed a music-master. V. We studied hard in our styles, Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos, For air, looked out on the tiles, For fun, watched each other's windows. VI. You lounged, like a boy of the South, With fingers the clay adhered to. VII. And I-soon managed to find Weak points in the flower-fence facing, Was forced to put up a blind, And be safe in my corset lacing. VIII. No harm! It was not my fault If you never turned your eye's tail up, As I shook upon E in alt, Or ran the chromatic scale up : IX. For spring bade the sparrows pair, X. Why did not you pinch a flower Why did not I put a power Of thanks in a look, or sing it? XI. I did look, sharp as a lynx (And yet the memory rankles), When models arrived, some minx Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles. XII. But I think I gave you as good! XII. Could you say so, and never say, 66 Suppose we join hands and fortunes, "And I fetch her from over the way, "Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?" XIV. No, no: you would not be rash, XV. But you meet the Prince at the Board, I've married a rich old lord, And you're dubbed knight and an R.A. XVI. Each life unfulfilled, you see; It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: XVII. And nobody calls you a dunce, And we missed it, lost it for ever. Robert Browning. CCCCLXXIV. GARDEN FANCIES. The Flower's Name. I. HERE'S the garden she walked across, Hinders the hinges and makes them wince! II. Down this side of the gravel-walk She went while her robe's edge brushed the box : And here she paused in her gracious talk To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox. Roses ranged in a valiant row, I will never think that she passed you by ! She loves you, noble roses, I know; But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie! III. This flower she stooped at, finger on lip, IV. Roses, if I live and do well, I may bring her, one of these days, To fix you fast with as fine a spell, Fit you each with his Spanish phrase; But do not detain me now; for she lingers There, like sunshine over the ground, And ever I see her soft white fingers Searching after the bud she found. V. Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not, Twinkling the audacious leaves between, VI. Where I find her not, beauties vanish; Is there no method to tell her in Spanish June's twice June since she breathed it with me? -Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces- Robert Browning. CCCCLXXV. BEDTIME. 'TIS bedtime; say your hymn, and bid "Good-night," Yes, I will carry you, put out the light, I drew her little feet within my hand, Francis, Earl of Rosslyn. |