 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
107
WHY DONT HE PROPOSE?
An Epistle from Miss Seraphine Languish to Miss Jane Herbert.
You've seen Sir George Eustace? rich, handsome, and good, dear,
As brave as a lion, as mild as a dove;
Ever since I have known him, I've tried all I could, dear,
To win from his lips an avowal of love!
The world gives him to me—its debtor I stand, Jane;
He might be as generous too—if he chose!
Last evening, for two sets he offer'd his hand, Jane;
'Twas only for two sets!—why dont he propose?
As brave as a lion, as mild as a dove;
Ever since I have known him, I've tried all I could, dear,
To win from his lips an avowal of love!
The world gives him to me—its debtor I stand, Jane;
He might be as generous too—if he chose!
Last evening, for two sets he offer'd his hand, Jane;
'Twas only for two sets!—why dont he propose?
He said, cousin Isabel's dark hair was braided
Above her white forehead, with classical grace;
The very next morning, my raven locks shaded,
In just such arrangement, my lovelier face!
He likes Lady Adeline's bands, smooth and glossy;
He looks at Georgina's soft tress as it flows;—
I've worn my hair waving in curls light and flossy,
I've worn Taglionis!—why dont he propose?
Above her white forehead, with classical grace;
The very next morning, my raven locks shaded,
In just such arrangement, my lovelier face!
He likes Lady Adeline's bands, smooth and glossy;
He looks at Georgina's soft tress as it flows;—
I've worn my hair waving in curls light and flossy,
I've worn Taglionis!—why dont he propose?
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He vows that my dimple is Love's sunny spell, dear;
That my form than a fairy's is prettier far;
That my teeth are but pearls in a rich crimson shell, dear;
My cheek a blush-rose, and my bright eye a star!
He says that my voice is bewitchingly tender;
I sing to him always of Love's gentle woes!
He knows I am ready my heart to surrender;—
He knows I adore him;—why dont he propose?
That my form than a fairy's is prettier far;
That my teeth are but pearls in a rich crimson shell, dear;
My cheek a blush-rose, and my bright eye a star!
He says that my voice is bewitchingly tender;
I sing to him always of Love's gentle woes!
He knows I am ready my heart to surrender;—
He knows I adore him;—why dont he propose?
He likes timid women; by nature I'm bold, love,
But once, when it thundered, I clung to his arm;
Papa and Mama did look awfully cold, love,
But he seemed delighted,—and where was the harm?
He gazed on my drooping form, languidly leaning,
He pressed my fair fingers as long as—he chose?
His eyes popped the question, with looks full of meaning;
But his lips!—how provoking!—I thought he'd propose!
But once, when it thundered, I clung to his arm;
Papa and Mama did look awfully cold, love,
But he seemed delighted,—and where was the harm?
He gazed on my drooping form, languidly leaning,
He pressed my fair fingers as long as—he chose?
His eyes popped the question, with looks full of meaning;
But his lips!—how provoking!—I thought he'd propose!
Were I Lady Eustace, no bride of the season
Should sport a trousseau so recherchè as I!
I'd be my own mistress, or I'd know the reason;
And wives meek and yielding, for envy should sigh!
My robe should be velvet,—my diamonds should lighten
Amid my dark ringlets, as starry night glows!
I'd winter in Paris—I'd summer in Brighton!
What wouldn't I do—if he'd only propose!
Should sport a trousseau so recherchè as I!
109
And wives meek and yielding, for envy should sigh!
My robe should be velvet,—my diamonds should lighten
Amid my dark ringlets, as starry night glows!
I'd winter in Paris—I'd summer in Brighton!
What wouldn't I do—if he'd only propose!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |