Maybloom and Myrtle

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D. Estes, 1910 - American poetry - 138 pages
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Page 127 - FOREBODING IF love could pass as die away The summer winds at ebb of day That through the amber silence stray, Sweet heralds of repose, Whispering in the ear of Night The memory of the Morning's light, The fragrance of its rose, Then we might love and never dread The awful void when love is dead.
Page 32 - Romaine. 94 hath come back to town A little bandit queen, Her cheek hath robbed the berry's brown, Her eye the dewdrop's sheen. Upon her lips there brightly glows The poppy's crimson hue, With Autumn music in her toes She charms the avenue. Alas ! how wildly hearts will beat That late kept slowest time ; Alas ! how many a snowy sheet Will meet its fate in rhyme ! Laugh, Cupid laugh, with saucy glee At all the pangs in store, But never point thy dart at me— My heart was hers before. Samuel Minturn...
Page 28 - A TWILIGHT PICTURE AT the hour of twilight stilly, In a cozy window nook, Softly bending like a lily Breathless o'er a story-book, Sitteth Edith; As she readeth, Pity shines in every look. Few the cares that ever find her, Summer's with her all the year; Jack will tease, or Gyp won't mind her • Such the woes she hath to fear.
Page 13 - but to-day it is as blue as your eyes. In war, you know, a man has a right to change his suit, though he may be hanged for it." "And in love, "said she, "a maid has a right to change her mind, though she may be married for it." And she took the penalty. THE TIME TO WOO A LITTLE white rose in the garden blew, When the dew in the dawn lay bright ; And over the grass came her lovers to woo, And faithful troth to plight. But the rose bade the wind go sigh, go sigh ; She flouted the vows of the butterfly...
Page 22 - Tis wise to laugh one's ills away, And hum a merry song, But where 's the heart that's always gay "When everything goes wrong! So if a sulky pout I see On dear lips red and ripe, I find the friend still true to me, My old clay pipe. I used to think that I could make Of life an endless smile, And dreamed of one who, for my sake, Was loving all the while; But now I check the useless tear I'd be too proud to wipe, And bless the friend that's ever near, My old clay pipe. SAMUEL MINTURN PECK. THINK IT...
Page 149 - ... a morn more bright — I want to hear the old songs, Oh, sing me one to-night. I want to hear the old songs, No trilling, no roulade, Where music dons her lace and gems And trips in masquerade. But give to me the simple strain That seeks the heart outright, And nests within its deepest part — Ah, sing me one to-night. I want to hear the old songs, Their names I need not tell; The quaint old names mean naught to you, But I can feel their spell. Each one, a key, can ope to me The garden of delight...
Page 35 - ... YOU'D like to be a shepherdess Beside a Summer brook? The sweetest rhyme could ne'er express How charming you would look. In kirtle blue and ribbons fair, 'Mid your devoted sheep, I'm sure that you would never share The fate of poor Bo Peep. Ah, if you were a shepherdess We'd meet at dawn of day! This blissful thought, I must confess, Quite takes my breath away. We'd gaily trip across the grass, Unmindful of the dew ; In faithful love I'd far surpass The lamb that Mary knew. Were you a little...
Page 15 - ... locks the hue of autumn sheaves It wove a witching snare. Too late my beating heart perceives The peril of a look: The spell was wrought, My heart was caught As Peggy crossed the brook. The mowers sang a merry lay, Haymaking on the hill; But down beside the brook that day The air was soft and still. I wished the scene might live for aye, Like pictures in a book; But fairest things Have fleetest wings — And Peggy crossed the brook.
Page 25 - twere well to deplore me, Like a sharp-shooter hidden from sight. All armor were useless, but elfin, For none can be fashioned by art; And lacking the sort to put self in, A flash! — I was shot through the heart.
Page 24 - You would not be proud," she said, not at all regretfully, "for I have not learned to write. I have not even learned to spell. I have only learned what life means to us two. And that is not a story for the world." SYLVIA'S DIMPLE SYLVIA'S gown was bewitching, And fashioned of ribbon and lace, A marvel of puffing and stitching, Of criss-cross and curly-cue grace. So perfectly planned was this toilette, She rivaled a sylph in her shape; And yet, I had power to foil it — 'Twas her dimple I could not...

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