Why is it that my MARGERY
Hears nothing that these say to me?
She is so good, she is so true,
My heart it maketh such ado;
_Perdie!
So good is she, so true is she,
You see,
She can not hear the other two._
_Constance._
Beyond the orchard, in the lane,
The crested red-bird sings again--
O bird, whose song says, _Have no care._
Should I not care when CONSTANCE there,--
My CONSTANCE, with the bashful gaze,
Pink-gowned like some sweet hollyhock,--
If I declare my love, just says
Some careless thing as if in mock?
Like--_Past the orchard, in the lane,
How sweet the red-bird sings again_!
There, while the red-bird sings his best,
His listening mate sits on the nest--
O bird, whose patience says, _All's well_,
How can it be with me, now tell?
When CONSTANCE, with averted eyes,--
Soft-bonneted as some sweet-pea,--
If I speak marriage, just replies
With some such quaint irrelevancy,
As, _While the red-bird sings his best,
His loving mate sits on the nest_.
What shall I say? what can I do?
Would such replies mean aught to you,
O birds, whose gladness says, _Be glad_?
Have I not reason to be sad
When CONSTANCE, with demurest glance,
Her face a-poppy with distress,
If I reproach her, pouts, perchance,
And answers so in waywardness?--
_What shall I say? what can I do?
My meaning should be plain to you!_
_Gertrude._
When first I gazed on GERTRUDE'S face,
Beheld her loveliness and grace;
Her brave gray eyes, her raven hair,
Her ways, more winsome than the kiss
_Spring_ gives the flowers; her smile, that is
Brighter than all the summer air
Made sweet with birds:--I did declare,--
And still declare!--there is no one,
No girl beneath the moon or sun,
So beautiful to look upon!
And to my thoughts, that on her dwell,
Nothing seems more desirable--
Not OPHIR gold nor ORIENT pearls--
Than seems this jewel-girl of girls.
_Lydia._
When Autumn's here and days are short,
Let LYDIA laugh and, hey!
Straightway 't is _May-day_ in my heart,
And blossoms strew the way.
When _Summer's_ here and days are long,
Let LYDIA sigh and, ho!
_December's_ fields I walk among,
And shiver in the snow.
No matter what the Seasons are,
My LYDIA is so dear,
My soul admits no Calendar
Of earth when she is near.