The Opal in Her Hair.
37
Vows with heart athrob to win it,
Yields himself unto the snare
Of the molten magic in it,
Of the opal in her hair.
Yields himself unto the snare
Of the molten magic in it,
Of the opal in her hair.
To a Mandolin.
Oh! foolish little twittering mandolin
Thrilling with emotions just as thin
And flimsy as the ribbons, pink and blue,
And amber-tinted, that envelop you.
Oh! mimic passion, striking tinsel chords,
Playing with earnestness, as children play with swords,
Skimming across love's vast and unplumbed deeps,
With flittering touches, as a swallow sweeps
The surface of unfathomable seas,
Her silken wing brushing immensities.
Oh! heed thee, swallow! lest thou haply lose thyself,
And the great sea thy little form engulf.
Oh! heed thee, mandolin! lest o'er thy mimic woes,
A wave of real passion sudden overflows.
Thrilling with emotions just as thin
And flimsy as the ribbons, pink and blue,
And amber-tinted, that envelop you.
Oh! mimic passion, striking tinsel chords,
Playing with earnestness, as children play with swords,
Skimming across love's vast and unplumbed deeps,
With flittering touches, as a swallow sweeps
The surface of unfathomable seas,
Her silken wing brushing immensities.
Oh! heed thee, swallow! lest thou haply lose thyself,
And the great sea thy little form engulf.
Oh! heed thee, mandolin! lest o'er thy mimic woes,
A wave of real passion sudden overflows.
