~Love Laughs.~
"Love laughs at locksmiths," laughs ho! ho!
Still Thisbe steals to meet a beau,
Naught recks of bolt and bar and night,
And father's frown and word despite.
As in the days of long ago,
In southern heat and northern snow
Still twangs the archer's potent bow,
And as his flying arrows smite,
Love laughs.
_Trinity Tablet_.
~Where Cupid Dwells.~
Way over the seas, is a far, far land,
Where skies are blue and gold;
Where ripples break on a silver sand,
And sunbeams ne'er grow old;
There's a dale where Cupid dwells, they say,
And 'tis there that he rests from his frolic play.
Oh, there's many a lass and many a swain
That knows of his shafts made there;
For Cupid spares naught of a deep heart-pain.
Though love be all his care.
And I think he should make a reflection or two,
When he rests over there from his play. Don't you?
ROBERT L. MUNGER.
_Yale Courant_.
~To Ruby Lips.~
Two ruby lips are hers; a pair
Of eyes a cynic to ensnare,
A tinted cheek, a perfect nose,
A throat as white as winter's snows,
And o'er her brow bright golden hair.
But, though she's everything that's fair,
My captured fancy's focused where
A saucy smile suffuses those
Two ruby lips.
Why longer wait their sweets to share?
We're safe behind the portière.
A moment, then, that no one knows--
Ah! now she's flown, _couleur de rose_,
With, one might hint (but who would dare?)
_Too_ ruby lips.
H.A. RICHMOND.
_The Tech._
~A Gift.~
My friend holds careless in his palm
A glittering stone.
He does not know a jewel rare
Is all his own.
But in its flashing lights I see
A diamond shine,
And though he holds it in his hand,
The gem is mine.
ELIZABETH REEVE CUTTER.
_Smith College Monthly_.
~Jacqueminot.~
Are you filled with wonder, Jacqueminot,
Do you think me mad that I kiss you so?
If a rose could only its thoughts express,
I'd find you mocking, I more than guess;
And yet if you vow me a fond old fool,
Just think if your own fine pulse was cool
When you lay in her tresses an hour ago,
Jacqueminot.
This pale, proud girl, you must understand,
Held all my fate in her small white hand,
And when I asked her to be my bride,
She wanted a day to think--decide;
And I asked, if her answer were _no_, she'd wear
A Marshal Niel to the ball in her hair,
But if 'twere _yes_, she would tell me so
By a Jacqueminot.
My heart found heaven, I had seen my sign,
And after the dance I knew her mine,
And I plucked you out of her warm, soft hair,
As her stately pride stood trembling there,
And I felt in the dark for her lips to kiss,
And I pressed them close to my own like _this_,
And I held her cheek to my own cheek--_so_,
Jacqueminot!
FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES.
_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._
~Don't You Wish You Knew!~
Glancing in the moonlight,
Gliding in the dark,
Down the river slowly,
Floats our dainty bark.
Sweetly sound two voices,
Shadows hide the view;
Heard the rushes something?
Don't you wish you knew!
Gently sigh the zephyrs,
Shine the stars above,
Eyes of brighter lustre
Speak of lasting love.
Quickly pass the hours,
Glides the bark canoe;
Heard the rushes something?
Don't you wish you knew!
A.H.B.
_Brunonian._
~Prom-Roses.~
Only a bunch of roses fair,
A duster of pink and white,
Roses that nod to the music low,
The flowers she wore that night.
She tenderly lifts each drooping head
That gracefully tosses there,
And the dainty flowers, nestling close,
Smile back at the maiden fair.
"How beautiful they are," she said,
As she pressed them to her cheek,
"Why, the opened petals almost seem
As if they were trying to speak."
I wonder why she cannot hear
The song that the flowers sing,
I wonder if she knows or cares
For the message the roses bring.
JAMES P. SAWYER.
_Yale Record_.
~A Lyric.~
Beneath the lilac-tree,
With its breathing blooms of white,
You waved a parting kiss to me
In the deepening amber light.
Your face is always near,
Your tender eyes of brown.
I see your form in dreams; I hear
The whisper of your gown.
Once more the lilac-tree
With twilight dew is wet;
But, oh, I would that you might be
Alive to love me yet.
EDWARD M. HULME.
_The Palo Alto._