28
POEMS.
Of all refined dulciloquy
Expressed in that "first valentine"—
No wonder that it seemed to me,
In greener years, almost divine,
As I read on with bated breath,
The loyal ending—"Yours, till death."
Expressed in that "first valentine"—
No wonder that it seemed to me,
In greener years, almost divine,
As I read on with bated breath,
The loyal ending—"Yours, till death."
An artist in his native land,
His skill acknowledged far and wide,
With fame and wealth at his command—
What boon before had been denied
To him who had the missive penned,
And craved a dearer name than friend?
His skill acknowledged far and wide,
With fame and wealth at his command—
What boon before had been denied
To him who had the missive penned,
And craved a dearer name than friend?
Who would have thought it? Cousin Fay!
The revelation was a blow
That almost took my breath away—
I pitied him—'twas years ago—
He's living yet. Can Earth impart
No solace to his broken heart?
A letter from a friend since then
My kinsman Raphael depicts
Wrapped up—oh, paradox of men!
In his sweet wife and children six;
And so for him no more I sigh—
If one needs pity, do not I?
The revelation was a blow
That almost took my breath away—
I pitied him—'twas years ago—
He's living yet. Can Earth impart
No solace to his broken heart?
A letter from a friend since then
My kinsman Raphael depicts
Wrapped up—oh, paradox of men!
In his sweet wife and children six;
And so for him no more I sigh—
If one needs pity, do not I?
