 | Songs of two centuries |  |
62
BLOWING THE FEATHER.
Blowing the feather, ten together
Sat in the lamplight's honest glare;
While outside, the lips of the weather
Hurried the leaflets here and there.
Blowing the feather, ten together
Laughed in the lamplight's cozy glare.
Sat in the lamplight's honest glare;
While outside, the lips of the weather
Hurried the leaflets here and there.
Blowing the feather, ten together
Laughed in the lamplight's cozy glare.
At right of the feather, two together
Merrily sat—a rival pair:
Each of the swains was wondering whether
That sweet maiden over there—
She with the skeins of golden hair
Holding those two with Love's strong tether—
Had for either a tender care.
Merrily sat—a rival pair:
Each of the swains was wondering whether
That sweet maiden over there—
She with the skeins of golden hair
Holding those two with Love's strong tether—
Had for either a tender care.
Left of the feather, two together
Laughingly sat—another pair;
One was a man of quiet air,
And one was this maid with the golden hair.
He might have been—but was not—her brother;
They never deigned to glance at each other—
Or had for a neighbor a word to spare;
Watching, with laughs they tried to smother,
The two fierce rivals over there.
Laughingly sat—another pair;
One was a man of quiet air,
And one was this maid with the golden hair.
He might have been—but was not—her brother;
They never deigned to glance at each other—
Or had for a neighbor a word to spare;
Watching, with laughs they tried to smother,
The two fierce rivals over there.
“Now,” said the maid, “who gets the feather,
Over his heart this rose may wear!”
Then there was grasping here and there—
Then there were breaths that rushed together;
All were striving, except the pair
Sitting so calmly, chair by chair,
Silently watching the dancing feather:
The man with the cool and dreamy air,
And the laughing maid with golden hair.
Over his heart this rose may wear!”
Then there was grasping here and there—
Then there were breaths that rushed together;
All were striving, except the pair
Sitting so calmly, chair by chair,
63
The man with the cool and dreamy air,
And the laughing maid with golden hair.
Front of the rivals stopped the feather;
One was grasping, with eager air,
And one was flushed as the frosted heather,
Blowing the white-winged omen where
His rival should miss it, in despair;
But straight it flew, o'er the surface wide,
To the man who sat at the farther side—
He of the quiet and dreamy air:
“All things come, if we do but wait”,
He said to the maiden, calm as Fate,
And offered his heart to the fingers fair.
The maiden turned as white as the feather,
Then red as the rose, as she pinned it there.
One was grasping, with eager air,
And one was flushed as the frosted heather,
Blowing the white-winged omen where
His rival should miss it, in despair;
But straight it flew, o'er the surface wide,
To the man who sat at the farther side—
He of the quiet and dreamy air:
“All things come, if we do but wait”,
He said to the maiden, calm as Fate,
And offered his heart to the fingers fair.
The maiden turned as white as the feather,
Then red as the rose, as she pinned it there.
| Songs of two centuries | |