Selections from Songs of a Bayadere and Songs of a Troubadour By Evelyn Douglas [i.e. J. E. Barlas] |
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The Gift.
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 | Selections from Songs of a Bayadere and Songs of a Troubadour |  |
39
The Gift.
What shall I send my lady fair
To mind her of my love?
A ribbon-string, a lock of hair,
A garter, fan, or glove?
To mind her of my love?
A ribbon-string, a lock of hair,
A garter, fan, or glove?
A falcon, keen-eyed as the day,
To sit upon her wrist,
And flap his wings and fly away
When she may cry, “Hist! hist!”
To sit upon her wrist,
And flap his wings and fly away
When she may cry, “Hist! hist!”
A Spanish steed as white as milk,
True to her least command,
All in a net of golden silk,
To feed out of her hand?
True to her least command,
All in a net of golden silk,
To feed out of her hand?
40
A strong sleuth-hound of kingly breed
To come unto her call,
Deep-jowled, of matchless strength and speed,
To see her safe through all?
To come unto her call,
Deep-jowled, of matchless strength and speed,
To see her safe through all?
A soft, a tender cooing dove
To nestle in her breast,
And mind her of my absent love
When she is in her nest?
To nestle in her breast,
And mind her of my absent love
When she is in her nest?
A lute of deep and tender tone
Her fingers fair can play,
That she may not be quite alone
When I am far away?
Her fingers fair can play,
That she may not be quite alone
When I am far away?
A mirror fair of silver sheen
Encased in mother-o'-pearl,
To let her beauty well be seen
When she would set a curl?
Encased in mother-o'-pearl,
To let her beauty well be seen
When she would set a curl?
41
A missal with a clasp of gold
And plates like coloured glass,
For her dainty little hand to hold
When she would go to mass?
And plates like coloured glass,
For her dainty little hand to hold
When she would go to mass?
A silken veil of silver hue
Which she can drop or lift,
To hide her blushing face from view
When she would go to shrift?
Which she can drop or lift,
To hide her blushing face from view
When she would go to shrift?
A string of amber beads to count
Her pretty sins, ywis,
And reckon up the long amount
Of her infidelities?
Her pretty sins, ywis,
And reckon up the long amount
Of her infidelities?
A coil of pearls to clasp her neck,
That mocks their dusky hues,
To hide each little purple speck
Where a kiss has left a bruise?
That mocks their dusky hues,
To hide each little purple speck
Where a kiss has left a bruise?
42
A fan, when lovers round her swarm,
O'er which to dart her glance,
Or to hide her blushing cheek when warm
In the pauses of the dance?
O'er which to dart her glance,
Or to hide her blushing cheek when warm
In the pauses of the dance?
A cushion, where at feet of her
Some lute-player may kneel?
A pen to write a love letter?
A Cupid on a seal?
Some lute-player may kneel?
A pen to write a love letter?
A Cupid on a seal?
A withered rose that should be fair,
Heart-cankered in the bud?—
Ah, no, a tress of my dead hair
Dabbled in my heart's blood.
Heart-cankered in the bud?—
Ah, no, a tress of my dead hair
Dabbled in my heart's blood.
| Selections from Songs of a Bayadere and Songs of a Troubadour | |