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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
292
SONG.
Though oft beguiled, my friend, before,
Still, still permit me to beguile:
Denounce not harshly, but deplore
My laugh, and it may end a smile.
To children more akin than you
We women are—we give them birth—
If we are sometimes childish too,
Be men, nor war on childish mirth!
Still, still permit me to beguile:
Denounce not harshly, but deplore
My laugh, and it may end a smile.
To children more akin than you
We women are—we give them birth—
If we are sometimes childish too,
Be men, nor war on childish mirth!
Once on my head your hand you laid;
I shook it thence;—but 'twas an art
To hide from you how near it weighed
On that which shook beneath—my heart.
Go not! be cold; be stern; be mute;
Yet stay: lest I, who cannot choose
But tremble sometimes at thy suit,
At last should tremble to refuse.
I shook it thence;—but 'twas an art
To hide from you how near it weighed
On that which shook beneath—my heart.
Go not! be cold; be stern; be mute;
Yet stay: lest I, who cannot choose
But tremble sometimes at thy suit,
At last should tremble to refuse.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |