 | Poems |  |
169
TO ---.
Now, by each sunny-flowing curl!
This heart thou deemest cold,
Is thine too truly, little girl!
To let its truth be told.
This heart thou deemest cold,
Is thine too truly, little girl!
To let its truth be told.
For thou would'st crimson like the Dawn,
To hear its fond confessing,
And tremble like a timid fawn,
At Love, and Love's caressing.
To hear its fond confessing,
And tremble like a timid fawn,
At Love, and Love's caressing.
A few short moons will quickly move,
And thou mayst witness then,
How sweet a thing it is to love—
And to be loved again.
And thou mayst witness then,
How sweet a thing it is to love—
And to be loved again.
170
And Alma Venus over thee
Her gentle watch is keeping—
For, nestled in thine eyes, I see
The Baby Cupid sleeping.
Her gentle watch is keeping—
For, nestled in thine eyes, I see
The Baby Cupid sleeping.
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