London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
 |
MY NEIGHBOUR ROSE |
 | London lyrics |  |
9
MY NEIGHBOUR ROSE
Though walls but thin our hearths divide,
We're strangers, dwelling side by side;—
How gaily all your days must glide
Unvex'd by labour!
I've seen you weep, and could have wept;
I've heard you sing (and might have slept!)
Sometimes I hear your chimney swept,
My Charming Neighbour!
We're strangers, dwelling side by side;—
How gaily all your days must glide
Unvex'd by labour!
I've seen you weep, and could have wept;
I've heard you sing (and might have slept!)
Sometimes I hear your chimney swept,
My Charming Neighbour!
Your pets are mine. Pray what may ail
The pup, once eloquent of tail?
I wonder why your nightingale
Is mute at sunset.
Your puss, demure and pensive, seems
Too fat to mouse. Much she esteems
Yon sunny wall, and, dozing, dreams
Of mice she once ate.
The pup, once eloquent of tail?
I wonder why your nightingale
Is mute at sunset.
Your puss, demure and pensive, seems
Too fat to mouse. Much she esteems
Yon sunny wall, and, dozing, dreams
Of mice she once ate.
10
Our tastes agree. I dote upon
Frail jars, turquoise and celadon,
The Wedding March of Mendelssohn,
And Penseroso.
When sorely tempted to purloin
Your Pietà of Marc Antoine,
Fair virtue doth fair-play enjoin,
Fair Virtuoso!
Frail jars, turquoise and celadon,
The Wedding March of Mendelssohn,
And Penseroso.
When sorely tempted to purloin
Your Pietà of Marc Antoine,
Fair virtue doth fair-play enjoin,
Fair Virtuoso!
At times an Ariel, cruel-kind,
Will kiss my lips, and stir your blind,
And whisper low, “She hides behind;
Thou art not lonely.”
The tricksy sprite would erst assist
At hush'd Verona's moonlight tryst;—
Sweet Capulet, thou wert not kiss'd
By light winds only.
Will kiss my lips, and stir your blind,
And whisper low, “She hides behind;
Thou art not lonely.”
The tricksy sprite would erst assist
At hush'd Verona's moonlight tryst;—
Sweet Capulet, thou wert not kiss'd
By light winds only.
I miss the simple days of yore,
When two long braids of hair you wore,
And Chat Botté was wonder'd o'er,
In corner cosy.
But gaze not back for tales like those:
It's all in order, I suppose;
The bud is now a blooming Rose,—
A rosy-posy!
When two long braids of hair you wore,
And Chat Botté was wonder'd o'er,
In corner cosy.
But gaze not back for tales like those:
It's all in order, I suppose;
The bud is now a blooming Rose,—
A rosy-posy!
11
Indeed, farewell to bygone years;
How wonderful the change appears;
For curates now, and cavaliers,
In turn perplex you:
The last are birds of feather gay,
Who swear the first are birds of prey;—
I'd scare them all had I my way,
But that might vex you.
How wonderful the change appears;
For curates now, and cavaliers,
In turn perplex you:
The last are birds of feather gay,
Who swear the first are birds of prey;—
I'd scare them all had I my way,
But that might vex you.
Sometimes I've envied, it is true,
That Hero, joyous twenty-two,
Who sent bouquets and billets doux,
And wore a sabre.
The Rogue! how close his arm he wound
About Her waist, who never frown'd.
He loves you, Child. Now, is he bound
To love my Neighbour?
That Hero, joyous twenty-two,
Who sent bouquets and billets doux,
And wore a sabre.
The Rogue! how close his arm he wound
About Her waist, who never frown'd.
He loves you, Child. Now, is he bound
To love my Neighbour?
The bells are ringing. As is meet,
White favours fascinate the street,
Sweet faces greet me, rueful-sweet
'Twixt tears and laughter:
They crowd the door to see her go,
The bliss of one brings many woe;—
Ay, kiss the Bride, and I will throw
The old shoe after.
White favours fascinate the street,
Sweet faces greet me, rueful-sweet
'Twixt tears and laughter:
They crowd the door to see her go,
The bliss of one brings many woe;—
Ay, kiss the Bride, and I will throw
The old shoe after.
12
What change in one short afternoon,
My own dear Neighbour gone,—so soon!
Is yon pale orb her honey-moon
Slow rising hither?
O lady, wan and marvellous!
How often have we communed thus!
Sweet memory shall dwell with us,
And joy go with her.
My own dear Neighbour gone,—so soon!
Is yon pale orb her honey-moon
Slow rising hither?
O lady, wan and marvellous!
How often have we communed thus!
Sweet memory shall dwell with us,
And joy go with her.
1861.
| London lyrics | |