 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
136
SISTERS.
YOUNGER SISTER.What is he like, sweet sister mine?
I prithee talk to me
Of the face and form of that lover of thine,
His image I long to see!
ELDER SISTER.
O sweet my love, he has bonny brown hair,
And his eyes are of glistening grey,
And his face is a rose, and his feet are fair,
And his glance is as bright as day!
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And how does he smile, this lover of thine,
I have seen you smile at the thought,
I have seen you smile, sweet sister mine,
Somebody that smile taught!
ELDER.
He smiles, little bird, as the great Sun smiles
In the morning drying the dew,
And the glance of his eye falls soft and beguiles
An answering eye glance too!
YOUNGER.
So his hair is brown, sweet sister mine,
Does it curl? . . . and his eyes are grey . . .
Has he rose-red lips, that lover of thine,
Like mine, sweet sister, say?
ELDER.
Oh sweet, he has lips that I love right well,
As rosy, and stronger than thine,
For his could be set to encounter hell,
Or . . . parted to meet . . . perhaps . . . mine!
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And what does he say, sweet sister mine,
Does he talk, does he prattle at all,
Can he say soft things, this lover of thine,
Can he thoughts of thine own forestall?
ELDER.
Ah! sweet, you should hear him, 'tis not for me
To show you, I can't, how he talks . . . .
But his voice is as soft as the fall of the sea
As close by my side he walks!
YOUNGER.
And oh! can he kiss, sweet sister mine . . . .
I remember at school we agreed
That nobody should be a lover of thine
If he couldn't . . . in this succeed!
ELDER.
Ah! love, one day you will know for yourself
What a kiss from a hero means . . . .
Why, sister mine, you sly little elf,
You are not yet in your teens!
139
Shall I have, do you think, sweet sister mine,
When I grow as tall as you,
And as pretty . . . perhaps . . . such a lover as thine,
A lover shall I have too?
ELDER.
Yes, little sister, keep you still
And be content to abide,
Eyes now full of fun one day shall fill
With tears when he walks by your side.
YOUNGER.
What is it like, sweet sister mine,
What they call being in love?
Was he in love, that lover of thine,
When he kissed . . . I saw . . . your glove?
ELDER.
Sweet, it is fair beyond all our dreams,
And gentle as airs at night,
And softer than wave of a symphony seems
That lulls one asleep with delight.
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Can he laugh, can he smile, sweet sister mine,
Or is he stern, does he frown,
This bearded man, this lover of thine,
As he bends his high head down?
ELDER.
Aye, he can laugh, little sister mine,
He can laugh, and his laugh is sweet,
Thrilling the veins as a draught of wine,
As the wild wind thrills the wheat.
YOUNGER.
And aren't you sorry, sweet sister mine,
From me, from us all to part,
To leave us all for that lover of thine,
To give to him your young heart?
ELDER.
Sorry, my sweet, as the flowers that give
To the sun their scents in the morn,
As the crimson clouds that for one thing live
Their colour to give to the dawn.
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But is he worth it, sister mine,
Is he worthy . . . worthy of you . . .
If he is the sun, that lover of thine,
You are something better than dew!
ELDER.
Worthy . . . aye . . . we will not talk, sweet,
Of worth, if you please, any more,
Precious to me is the print of his feet,
And the sound of his step at the door.
YOUNGER.
Has he ever told you, sister mine,
That he loved you, loved you at all,
Has he spoken out, that lover of thine,
Did he ever at your feet fall?
ELDER.
Never, love, but he said, “My own,”
And I . . . I knew what he meant . . .
I . . . why I know each turn of his tone . . .
And . . . home together we went!
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Ah! together . . . sweet sister mine,
I remember now very well
How you and he, that lover of thine,
Came home as the night mists fell.
ELDER.
Ah! I remember too, little love,
And the dews and the darkening trees,
And pale clear skies and a sparkle above
Of the stars, and the balm of the breeze.
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