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208 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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rv
You're not—do you say? Just remember last night, You gave Harry a rose, and you dubbed him your
knight; Poor lad ! if he loved you—but no, darling ! no, You're too thoughtful and good to fret any one so.
v
The painters are raving of light and of shade, And Harry, the poet, of lake, and of glade; While the light of your eye and your soft wavy form Suit a proser like me, by the hearth bright and warm.
VI
The snow on those hills is uncommonly grand,
But you know, Kate, it's not half so white as your
hand, And say what you will of the gray Christmas sky, Still I slightly prefer my dark girl's gray eye.
VII
Be quiet, and sing me "The Bonny Cuckoo," For it bids us the summer and winter love through ; And then I'll read out an old ballad that shows How Tyranny perished, and Liberty rose.
VIII
My Kate ! I'm so happy your voice whispers soft, And your cheek flushed wilder from kissing so oft, For town or for country, for mountains or farms, What care I ? My darling's entwined in my arms. |
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