 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
35
ANNE HATHAWAY.
“Anne Hathaway, she hath a way,” I wonderWhat way it was that won the singer's soul,
Could lips that pout, and part, and smile asunder,
Heart of a Shakespeare conquer and control,
Or had some traitor tress “a way of waving”
In windy jubilance across her eyes—
A way it was, I doubt not, worth the saving
In some soft sonnet proud of such a prize,
Only, unluckily, the words were broken
Short off, you see, by some such “woman's way,”
For, soon as Shakespeare's lips the above had spoken,
So sound an illustration I should say
Of what he meant was given in a kiss
That he was well content the rest to miss.
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