 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
55
A PROBLEM.
My darling has a merry eye,
And voice like silver bells:
How shall I win her, prithee, say,—
By what magic spells?
And voice like silver bells:
How shall I win her, prithee, say,—
By what magic spells?
If I frown, she shakes her head;
If I weep, she smiles:
Time would fail me to recount
All her wilful wiles.
If I weep, she smiles:
Time would fail me to recount
All her wilful wiles.
She flouts me so,—she stings me so,—
Yet will not let me stir,—
In vain I try to pass her by,
My little chestnut bur.
Yet will not let me stir,—
In vain I try to pass her by,
My little chestnut bur.
When I yield to every whim,
She straight begins to pout.
Teach me how to read my love,
How to find her out!
She straight begins to pout.
Teach me how to read my love,
How to find her out!
For flowers she gives me thistle-blooms,—
Her turtle-doves are crows,—
I am the groaning weather-vane,
And she the wind that blows.
Her turtle-doves are crows,—
I am the groaning weather-vane,
And she the wind that blows.
56
My little love! My teasing love!
Was woman made for man,—
A rose that blossomed from his side?
Believe it—those who can.
Was woman made for man,—
A rose that blossomed from his side?
Believe it—those who can.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |