Poems By Henry Nutcombe Oxenham. Third Edition |
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| XXXI. | XXXI.
A CHANCE MEETING. |
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 | Poems |  |
85
XXXI. A CHANCE MEETING.
Forgive me, if I dared to raise
An eager glance thou ill could'st brook;
Yet there was something in thy look
Which did not interdict my gaze.
An eager glance thou ill could'st brook;
Yet there was something in thy look
Which did not interdict my gaze.
Say, were it rudeness to impart
The smile-winged message of those eyes,
In whose bright depth unuttered lies
The voiceless converse of the heart?
The smile-winged message of those eyes,
In whose bright depth unuttered lies
The voiceless converse of the heart?
That night we met—and not alone—
One short hour; yet, when some strange spell
Thrills all our being, who may tell
How many hours are lived in one?
One short hour; yet, when some strange spell
Thrills all our being, who may tell
How many hours are lived in one?
I know but this—at thy warm touch
New life, new hopes within me woke,
New music in thine accents broke
Upon me, though he spoke not much,—
New life, new hopes within me woke,
New music in thine accents broke
Upon me, though he spoke not much,—
Music not hard to understand,
Whose echoes linger uneffaced;
Still lives in fond remembrance traced
The parting pressure of thy hand.
Whose echoes linger uneffaced;
Still lives in fond remembrance traced
The parting pressure of thy hand.
| Poems | |