Poems of Nathaniel Parker Willis . with a memoir of the author |
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[Come out, love—the night is enchanting] |
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 | Poems of Nathaniel Parker Willis . |  |
[Come out, love—the night is enchanting]
Argument.—The poet starts from the Bowling Green, to take his sweetheart up to Thompson's for an ice, or (if she is inclined for more) ices. He confines his muse to matters which any every-day man and young woman may see in taking the same promenade for the same innocent refreshment.
Come out, love—the night is enchanting!
The moon hangs just over Broadway;
The stars are all lighted and panting—
(Hot weather up there, I dare say!)
'Tis seldom that “coolness” entices,
And love is no better for chilling—
But come up to Thompson's for ices,
And cool your warm heart for a shilling!
The moon hangs just over Broadway;
The stars are all lighted and panting—
(Hot weather up there, I dare say!)
'Tis seldom that “coolness” entices,
And love is no better for chilling—
But come up to Thompson's for ices,
And cool your warm heart for a shilling!
What perfume comes balmily o'er us?
Mint juleps from City Hotel!
A loafer is smoking before us—
(A nasty cigar, by the smell!)
Oh Woman! thou secret past knowing!
Like lilachs that grow by the wall,
You breathe every air that is going,
Yet gather but sweetness from all!
Mint juleps from City Hotel!
A loafer is smoking before us—
(A nasty cigar, by the smell!)
Oh Woman! thou secret past knowing!
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You breathe every air that is going,
Yet gather but sweetness from all!
On, on! by St. Paul's, and the Astor!
Religion seems very ill-plann'd!
For one day we list to the pastor,
For six days we list to the band!
The sermon may dwell on the future,
The organ your pulses may calm—
When—pest!—that remember'd cachucha
Upsets both the sermon and psalm!
Religion seems very ill-plann'd!
For one day we list to the pastor,
For six days we list to the band!
The sermon may dwell on the future,
The organ your pulses may calm—
When—pest!—that remember'd cachucha
Upsets both the sermon and psalm!
Oh, pity the love that must utter
While goes a swift omnbius by!
(Though sweet is I scream when the flutter
Of fans shows thermometers high)—
But if what I bawl, or I mutter,
Falls into your ear but to die,
Oh, the dew that falls into the gutter
Is not more unhappy than I!
While goes a swift omnbius by!
(Though sweet is I scream when the flutter
Of fans shows thermometers high)—
But if what I bawl, or I mutter,
Falls into your ear but to die,
Oh, the dew that falls into the gutter
Is not more unhappy than I!
| Poems of Nathaniel Parker Willis . | |