 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
51
CLARA.
Others may be fairer, moulded
In accordance with high art,
Prim with graces frank, or folded
Shyly, in each studied part;
Others may be coldly wiser,
Saying just the proper thing,
Calculating, as a miser
Tests his money by its ring;
Others may be better, given
More to pious turns and tone,
Passing not a day unshriven—
But my Clara stands alone.
In accordance with high art,
Prim with graces frank, or folded
Shyly, in each studied part;
Others may be coldly wiser,
Saying just the proper thing,
Calculating, as a miser
Tests his money by its ring;
Others may be better, given
More to pious turns and tone,
Passing not a day unshriven—
But my Clara stands alone.
Not for one brief moment steady,
Even in frolic or at food,
Always for the changes ready,
Never in a settled mood;
Shifting, like a shifting curtain,
Which at any time may fall,
Sweet, unstable, and uncertain,
She is loveable in all;
Now in some bright way surprising,
Now with trouble of a tear,
Ever true, if tantalizing—
Who as Clara is so dear?
Even in frolic or at food,
Always for the changes ready,
Never in a settled mood;
Shifting, like a shifting curtain,
Which at any time may fall,
Sweet, unstable, and uncertain,
She is loveable in all;
Now in some bright way surprising,
Now with trouble of a tear,
Ever true, if tantalizing—
Who as Clara is so dear?
Sometimes the big eyes will soften
Sadly, with a cloud of dew,
Sympathizing, and as often
Harden mischief to renew;
Then again the maiden blossom
Wilful grows, to cut and carp,
Piercing through my very bosom,
For the rose's thorns are sharp;
Ah, she wounds me, hurts me, never
Lets my love remain at rest,
Mocks the pains of my endeavour—
Yet I love my Clara best.
Sadly, with a cloud of dew,
Sympathizing, and as often
Harden mischief to renew;
Then again the maiden blossom
Wilful grows, to cut and carp,
Piercing through my very bosom,
For the rose's thorns are sharp;
Ah, she wounds me, hurts me, never
Lets my love remain at rest,
Mocks the pains of my endeavour—
Yet I love my Clara best.
When I dream at last the distance
Traversed is, and won her heart,
Gone the grief of long resistance,
She is miles and miles apart;
When she seems most surely yielding
Now, to months of faithful love,
Fain to wrap her in its shielding,
Up she soars a star above;
All that man may give I offer,
All to gain her woman's will,
Though for nothing, to a scoffer—
But she is my Clara still.
Traversed is, and won her heart,
Gone the grief of long resistance,
She is miles and miles apart;
When she seems most surely yielding
Now, to months of faithful love,
Fain to wrap her in its shielding,
Up she soars a star above;
All that man may give I offer,
All to gain her woman's will,
Though for nothing, to a scoffer—
But she is my Clara still.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |