In Lighter Vein.
THEOPHANES.
A lily pure would I be, my love,
That, nestling close to thee,
I might feel the near, near warmth of thy form
To sweet satiety.
TRIOLET,
The moon from a cloud-flecked sky
In silvery beauty is shining,
It seems to bid lovers to fly—
The moon from a cloud-flecked sky,
-All envy and grief'and repining
Nor ever give time to a sigh.
The moon from a cloud-flecked sky
In silvery beauty is shining.
THERESA PAINTS,
Theresa paints—divinely, too,
A critic prejudiced, ’tis true,
Am I. But you, could you but see
Her canvases —e’en though they be
Hung side of Turner’s rarest view
Of English hills, and fields where dew
Of morning dances 'neath the blue
Spring skies—divinely, you’d agree,
Theresa paints;
But sootlily artist never drew,
And proudest art-halls never knew
So fair a scene, as when, in glee,
Her cheeks the wind seeks mirthfully,
And with a peerless art and hue
— Exchange.
—Exchange.