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 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE SOILED PACKET.
This soiled and sacred packet is my own,
To me more dear than any locks and lines,
And all the tender and delicious signs,
That still remain when love itself has flown
To me more dear than any locks and lines,
And all the tender and delicious signs,
That still remain when love itself has flown
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And though no more its creamy cover shines,
Since such caresses it has daily known,
Yet if my hungry heart at seasons pines,
I take out this and feel no more alone.
Since such caresses it has daily known,
Yet if my hungry heart at seasons pines,
I take out this and feel no more alone.
Love held the pen, and loitered on the page—
But it was love of money to be won,
When life had just a little course to run;
But it was love of money to be won,
When life had just a little course to run;
The hand that traced it trembled—but with rage,
The heart that breathed it cursed its coffined stage,
And glowed with all the passion of—a Dun.
The heart that breathed it cursed its coffined stage,
And glowed with all the passion of—a Dun.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |