LOVES GAME
I HELD her hand—
In at the window peered a crescent moon,
From far away there came the mystic rune
The sea sings to the shore
In restless monotone of joy or pain—
That old, old rune whose ceaseless soft refrain
The primal lovers heard of yore.
In at the window peered a crescent moon,
From far away there came the mystic rune
The sea sings to the shore
In restless monotone of joy or pain—
That old, old rune whose ceaseless soft refrain
The primal lovers heard of yore.
I held her hand—
So close her golden head, like incense rare
I caught the breath of roses in her hair,
Of roses red as wine.
It was a moment fraught with doubt intense
(For others watched with questioning suspense
Her yielded hand in mine).
So close her golden head, like incense rare
I caught the breath of roses in her hair,
Of roses red as wine.
It was a moment fraught with doubt intense
(For others watched with questioning suspense
Her yielded hand in mine).
I held her hand—
A happy man and proud, for none gainsaid
The precious preference she thus betrayed
With subtle, smiling grace.
I held her hand—at bridge! She ate an ice
And whispered o'er my shoulder sage advice:
"No trumps; and lead the ace."
A happy man and proud, for none gainsaid
The precious preference she thus betrayed
With subtle, smiling grace.
I held her hand—at bridge! She ate an ice
And whispered o'er my shoulder sage advice:
"No trumps; and lead the ace."
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