The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 61

"THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING"

The time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing.

Though Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorned the lore she brought me,-- My only books Were women's looks, And folly's all they taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted, Like him the sprite Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted.

Like him, too, Beauty won me; But when the spell was on me, If once their ray Was turned away, O! winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going?

And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing?

No--vain, alas! th' endeavor From bonds so sweet to sever;-- Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever.

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

DEAR f.a.n.n.y

"She has beauty, but you must keep your heart cool; She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so": Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, And 'tis not the first time I have thought so, Dear f.a.n.n.y, 'Tis not the first time I have thought so.

"She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; 'Tis the charm of youth's vanis.h.i.+ng season"; Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny That Love reasons better than Reason, Dear f.a.n.n.y Love reasons much better than Reason.

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

A CERTAIN YOUNG LADY

There's a certain young lady, Who's just in her hey-day, And full of all mischief, I ween; So teasing! so pleasing!

Capricious! delicious!

And you know very well whom I mean.

With an eye dark as night, Yet than noonday more bright, Was ever a black eye so keen?

It can thrill with a glance, With a beam can entrance, And you know very well whom I mean.

With a stately step--such as You'd expect in a d.u.c.h.ess-- And a brow might distinguish a queen, With a mighty proud air, That says "touch me who dare,"

And you know very well whom I mean.

With a toss of the head That strikes one quite dead, But a smile to revive one again; That toss so appalling!

That smile so enthralling!

And you know very well whom I mean.

Confound her! de'il take her!-- A cruel heart-breaker-- But hold! see that smile so serene.

G.o.d love her! G.o.d bless her!

May nothing distress her!

You know very well whom I mean.

Heaven help the adorer Who happens to bore her, The lover who wakens her spleen; But too blest for a sinner Is he who shall win her, And you know very well whom I mean.

Was.h.i.+ngton Irving [1783-1859]

"WHERE BE YOU GOING, YOU DEVON MAID"

Where be you going, you Devon maid?

And what have ye there in the basket?

Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; But oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

I'll put your basket all safe in a nook; Your shawl I'll hang on a willow; And we will sigh in the daisy's eye, And kiss on a gra.s.s-green pillow.

John Keats [1795-1821]

LOVE IN A COTTAGE

They may talk of love in a cottage, And bowers of trellised vine,-- Of nature bewitchingly simple, And milkmaids half divine; They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping In the shade of a spreading tree, And a walk in the fields at morning, By the side of a footstep free!

But give me a sly flirtation By the light of a chandelier,-- With music to play in the pauses, And n.o.body very near; Or a seat on a silken sofa, With a gla.s.s of pure old wine, And mamma too blind to discover The small white hand in mine.

Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies,-- Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies!

You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer.

True love is at home on a carpet, And mightily likes his ease;-- And true love has an eye for a dinner, And starves beneath shady trees.

His wing is the fan of a lady, His foot's an invisible thing, And his arrow is tipped with a jewel, And shot from a silver string.

Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867]

SONG OF THE MILKMAID From "Queen Mary"

Shame upon you, Robin, Shame upon you now!

Kiss me would you? with my hands Milking the cow?

Daisies grow again, Kingcups blow again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow.

Robin came behind me, Kissed me well, I vow; Cuff him could I? with my hands Milking the cow?

Swallows fly again, Cuckoos cry again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow.

Come, Robin, Robin, Come and kiss me now; Help it can I? with my hands Milking the cow?

Ringdoves coo again, All things woo again, Come behind and kiss me milking the cow!