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126
THE COUSINS.
“Rota in medio rotæ.”
He is coming! he is coming! but I must not seem to know,
Though my voice is all a-tremble, and my cheeks are all a-glow,
And my heart beats faint with sweetness as I bend above my book;
While she sits in the window,—and I dare not, dare not look.
Though my voice is all a-tremble, and my cheeks are all a-glow,
And my heart beats faint with sweetness as I bend above my book;
While she sits in the window,—and I dare not, dare not look.
He is coming! he is coming! and her breath grows fast and thick;
And I hear the creak of tackle, for a maiden's ears are quick!
And that—it was the anchor! But I pore upon my book,
And con the dim page as I may,—but dare not, dare not look.
And I hear the creak of tackle, for a maiden's ears are quick!
And that—it was the anchor! But I pore upon my book,
And con the dim page as I may,—but dare not, dare not look.
127
He is coming! he is coming! his foot is on the stair,
He stands within the chamber, as with grand and gracious air
She rises to salute him; and I bend above my book,
Though I know his eye hath found me,—but I dare not, dare not look.
He stands within the chamber, as with grand and gracious air
She rises to salute him; and I bend above my book,
Though I know his eye hath found me,—but I dare not, dare not look.
But when the balmy midnight hath wrapt the world in sleep,
And she lies proudly dreaming, to my window he will creep,
Through the shadowy jasmine curtains, and then I'll close my book,
And clasp him—him! my own! my own!—nor fear, at last, to look.
And she lies proudly dreaming, to my window he will creep,
Through the shadowy jasmine curtains, and then I'll close my book,
And clasp him—him! my own! my own!—nor fear, at last, to look.
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