Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

“This bonnet's really a charming change,
Its white rose tint suits mine so well;
But here's an awkward scarf indeed,
Although it be Cashmere.”
“That will not matter, we will drive:
Jacob! are the horses out?”
“Who's he that wears the forage-cap,
Who rides so hurriedly?”
“That moustachioed ensign nods—
How jauntily he sways himself

Upon the square toe of his boot!”
“These ladies—do you know their names?”
“Oh! This one is Thorn's Marian,—
Madame Marian, hey dey!—
Questionable, clumsy too.”
“Shall we return now?”—“When you please.”
Such are snatches of the talk
Of loungers not worth verse at all.

“Now mark the blush, the earnestness
O'ermantling that young man's face;
'Tis like a May-day morning,—
Almost as sweet as honey:
As yet he is an innocent!”—
With a gay sad cunning, quoth she now,
Beneath the glittering chandelier.
The music swells, and dies and wakes,
Like a spirit after death;
Upon a languid ottoman
She sinks and seems almost asleep;
But a snake, with a sickly skin, lifts up

Its sharp head to her heart.
Her father, mother, sister, friend,—
They are not here; and those who are
Scoff at her, cheapen her, she knows.
She cannot quell her quivering lip;
She weeps and laughs, and weeps again,
For the tears are strongest now.