 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
187
OVER THE WAY.
There's a cottage just over the way,
Where, whenever my eyes I am raising.
They will always unconsciously stray,
And never grow weary of gazing,
Such gentleness, sweetness and grace,
Was never yet equalled, I'm certain,
As shines in the beautiful face
Revealed by that wind-lifted curtain!
Where, whenever my eyes I am raising.
They will always unconsciously stray,
And never grow weary of gazing,
Such gentleness, sweetness and grace,
Was never yet equalled, I'm certain,
As shines in the beautiful face
Revealed by that wind-lifted curtain!
Oh, a sea-nymph might safely be proud
Of the tresses that forehead adorning,—
With hue like a golden-tinged cloud
Just seen in the dim of the morning,
Oh, that voice by a seraph was given,
And that laugh has a musical tinkle
And those eyes have the color of heaven
When the stars are beginning to twinkle!
Of the tresses that forehead adorning,—
With hue like a golden-tinged cloud
Just seen in the dim of the morning,
Oh, that voice by a seraph was given,
And that laugh has a musical tinkle
And those eyes have the color of heaven
When the stars are beginning to twinkle!
188
And then such a gem of a nose
All likeness and rivalry scorning,
And the lips like the heart of a rose
Blown apart by the first breath of morning!
Oh, that cottage just over the street!
How can I do other than love it?
For its inmate so lovely and sweet
'Twere no sin for an angel to covet!
All likeness and rivalry scorning,
And the lips like the heart of a rose
Blown apart by the first breath of morning!
Oh, that cottage just over the street!
How can I do other than love it?
For its inmate so lovely and sweet
'Twere no sin for an angel to covet!
Such beauty! it dazzles the eye,—
Oh, its owner is fairer than Venus!
But alas, I confess with a sigh,
There's more than that curtain between us!
For memory comes with a start,—
Ah, too long has its power been parried,—
For like ice to my love-smitten heart
Comes the dread recollection—she's married!
Oh, its owner is fairer than Venus!
But alas, I confess with a sigh,
There's more than that curtain between us!
For memory comes with a start,—
Ah, too long has its power been parried,—
For like ice to my love-smitten heart
Comes the dread recollection—she's married!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |