The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
 |
| I. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
|
LINES
WRITTEN FOR A BLANK PAGE OF “THE KEEPSAKE.” |
| II. |
| I. |
|
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
360
LINES WRITTEN FOR A BLANK PAGE OF “THE KEEPSAKE.”
Lady, there's fragrance in your sighs,
And sunlight in your glances;
I never saw such lips and eyes
In pictures or romances;
And Love will readily suppose,
To make you quite enslaving,
That you have taste for verse and prose,
Hot pressed, and line engraving.
And sunlight in your glances;
I never saw such lips and eyes
In pictures or romances;
And Love will readily suppose,
To make you quite enslaving,
That you have taste for verse and prose,
Hot pressed, and line engraving.
And then, you waltz so like a Fay,
That round you envy rankles;
Your partner's head is turned, they say,
As surely as his ankles;
And I was taught, in days far gone,
By a most prudent mother,
That in this world of sorrow, one
Good turn deserves another.
That round you envy rankles;
Your partner's head is turned, they say,
As surely as his ankles;
And I was taught, in days far gone,
By a most prudent mother,
That in this world of sorrow, one
Good turn deserves another.
361
I may not win you!—that's a bore!
But yet 'tis sweet to woo you;
And for this cause,—and twenty more,
I send this gay book to you.
If its songs please you,—by this light!
I will not hold it treason
To bid you dream of me to-night,
And dance with me next season.
But yet 'tis sweet to woo you;
And for this cause,—and twenty more,
I send this gay book to you.
If its songs please you,—by this light!
I will not hold it treason
To bid you dream of me to-night,
And dance with me next season.
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |