 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
358
PHILLIS.
“Phillis, to what can I compare
The golden glory of your hair?
Your cheek—was never cheek so fair,
Tell me if those be blushes there,
Or roses dropt on lilies?
Close, an you will, your eyes divine,
Still through their lids I feel them shine:
You will some day to me incline,
No distant day you must be mine;
Then why not now, O, Phillis?”
Phillis, without frown or smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
The golden glory of your hair?
Your cheek—was never cheek so fair,
Tell me if those be blushes there,
Or roses dropt on lilies?
Close, an you will, your eyes divine,
Still through their lids I feel them shine:
You will some day to me incline,
No distant day you must be mine;
Then why not now, O, Phillis?”
Phillis, without frown or smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
“You are a fair one, Phillis; but who knows
Whether the lily and the rose,
(Methinks your color comes and goes,)
Your golden tresses, and all those
Bewildering charms and graces,
Who, save your maid—why do you start?
Knows what is nature, what is art?
Do you ever keep the two apart?
What have you given me for my heart
But patched and painted faces?”
Phillis, with a frown and smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
Whether the lily and the rose,
(Methinks your color comes and goes,)
Your golden tresses, and all those
Bewildering charms and graces,
Who, save your maid—why do you start?
Knows what is nature, what is art?
Do you ever keep the two apart?
What have you given me for my heart
But patched and painted faces?”
Phillis, with a frown and smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
“Your waiting-woman, Mistress Prue,
Has more and deeper wit than you:
She knows precisely what to do
When Matt and Diggory come to woo,
And how to hold her lovers.
Now you—I have a mind to see
What pretty Prue will say to me
(She is a buxom wench, pardie,)
'Twill not be ‘fie!’ and ‘la, let be!’
That angry flush discovers.”
Phillis, with a frown, not smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
Has more and deeper wit than you:
She knows precisely what to do
When Matt and Diggory come to woo,
And how to hold her lovers.
359
What pretty Prue will say to me
(She is a buxom wench, pardie,)
'Twill not be ‘fie!’ and ‘la, let be!’
That angry flush discovers.”
Phillis, with a frown, not smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
“Phillis, you love me, you confessed
When I began my silly jest;
The guarded secrets of your breast
Slipped out, your heart among the rest,
Your heart that now so still is,
A little bird, that fluttered then
For fear that I, like lighter men—
Your nod says ‘Yes.’ But tell me when,
Or I must summon Prue again—
When shall it be, O Phillis?”
Phillis, with a happy smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
When I began my silly jest;
The guarded secrets of your breast
Slipped out, your heart among the rest,
Your heart that now so still is,
A little bird, that fluttered then
For fear that I, like lighter men—
Your nod says ‘Yes.’ But tell me when,
Or I must summon Prue again—
When shall it be, O Phillis?”
Phillis, with a happy smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |