 | City Poems |  |
“I wish to Heaven that Harry, Charles, and you,
Would go and ne'er return. I'm sure your backs
Are fairer than your faces.”
Would go and ne'er return. I'm sure your backs
Are fairer than your faces.”
“Poor little god!
Weary of incense; most unhappy rose,
Plagued with enamoured bees—too innocent
To blame its own sweet breath! A lover slay,
And hang him up within your beauty's field,
As the gruff husbandman hangs up a crow
To warn his brethren off.”
Weary of incense; most unhappy rose,
Plagued with enamoured bees—too innocent
To blame its own sweet breath! A lover slay,
And hang him up within your beauty's field,
As the gruff husbandman hangs up a crow
To warn his brethren off.”
The sunlight flashed
Into her face. She heaved a little sigh,
And dropped her eyelids down upon her cheek,
Though all the while the rogues laughed 'neath their shades,
And a smile played and flickered round the mouth
So rosily demure.
Into her face. She heaved a little sigh,
And dropped her eyelids down upon her cheek,
134
And a smile played and flickered round the mouth
So rosily demure.
“'Twere little use.
'Tis very hard to know which way to turn.
A lover is as stupid as the fish
That, with a broken barb within its gills,
Leaps at another bait. Where are you going?”
'Tis very hard to know which way to turn.
A lover is as stupid as the fish
That, with a broken barb within its gills,
Leaps at another bait. Where are you going?”
| City Poems | |