 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
760
BEWITCHED.
Ah, she was her needle threading,
When upon me first
Flashed her face, so lovely to one treading
Wilderness of thirst;
And directly passion, spurning
Forms of frigid art,
Like Athena sprang full-armed and burning
From my eager heart;
Till, entangled in her labour,
As she Fate-like stitched,
I, forgetting duty to my neighbour,
Was bewitched.
When upon me first
Flashed her face, so lovely to one treading
Wilderness of thirst;
And directly passion, spurning
Forms of frigid art,
Like Athena sprang full-armed and burning
From my eager heart;
Till, entangled in her labour,
As she Fate-like stitched,
I, forgetting duty to my neighbour,
Was bewitched.
For her hand, so softly closing
On my foolish life,
Was not then quite at her own disposing,
As another's wife;
Though she toyed with me demurely,
Like a Quaker's cat,
Which has caught and trifles with securely
Some too frisky rat;
While her legal old appendage,
Whom she early hitched,
Gave me welcome, nor would I offend age,
If bewitched.
On my foolish life,
Was not then quite at her own disposing,
As another's wife;
Though she toyed with me demurely,
Like a Quaker's cat,
Which has caught and trifles with securely
Some too frisky rat;
While her legal old appendage,
Whom she early hitched,
Gave me welcome, nor would I offend age,
If bewitched.
She, besides, seemed ever willing
Listener to my tale,
And when it waxed nearer and more thrilling,
Sometimes turning pale;
And, may be, at favoured season,
She would sweetly glance
Up at me, without a glimpse of treason,
Really quite by chance;
Things went gliding on, and gaily
As in temple niched
Her I worshipped, growing deeply, daily,
More bewitched.
Listener to my tale,
And when it waxed nearer and more thrilling,
Sometimes turning pale;
And, may be, at favoured season,
She would sweetly glance
Up at me, without a glimpse of treason,
Really quite by chance;
Things went gliding on, and gaily
As in temple niched
Her I worshipped, growing deeply, daily,
More bewitched.
Till at last, Old Fogey caught me
Making curious curves
With my lips, and thus unkindly thought me
Poaching his preserves;
Ancient he, but yet with vigour
I could never match,
Seized me with a more than youthful rigour,
Heedless of her scratch;
Yes, a vulgar arm of iron
Me most rudely switched,
And I am no more by any Siren,
Now bewitched.
Making curious curves
With my lips, and thus unkindly thought me
Poaching his preserves;
Ancient he, but yet with vigour
I could never match,
Seized me with a more than youthful rigour,
Heedless of her scratch;
Yes, a vulgar arm of iron
Me most rudely switched,
And I am no more by any Siren,
Now bewitched.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |