My little love, do you remember, Ere we were grown so sadly wise, Those evenings in the bleak December, Curtained warm from the snowy weather, When you and I played chess together, Checkmated by each other’s eyes? Ah! still I see your soft white hand Hovering warm o’er Queen and Knight; Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand; The double Castles guard the wings; The bishop, bent on distant things, Moves, sidling, through the fight. Our fingers touch; our glances meet, And falter; falls your golden hair Against my cheek; your bosom sweet Is heaving. Down the field, your Queen Rides slow, her soldiery all between, And checks me unaware. Ah me! the little battle ’s done: Disperst is all its chivalry. Full many a move since then have we Mid life’s perplexing checkers made, And many a game with fortune played; What is it we have won? This, this at least,—if this alone: That never, never, nevermore, As in those old still nights of yore, (Ere we were grown so sadly wise,) Can you and I shut out the skies, Shut out the world and wintry weather, And, eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, Play chess, as then we played together.
The Chess-Board
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