Old Flemish Lace

A long, rich breadth of Holland lace,   A window by a Flemish sea; Huge men go by with mighty pace,—   Great Anne was Queen these days, may be,   And strange ships prowled for spoil the sea—         For you—old lace! Stitch after stitch enwrought with grace,   The mist falls cold on Zuyder-Zee; The silver tankards hang in place   Along the wall; across her knee Dame Snuyder spreads her square of lace,         A veil—for me? The Holland dames put by their lace,   The bells of Bruges ring out in glee; The mill-wheels move in sluggish race:—   Farewell, sweet bells! Then down the sea The slow ship brings the bridal grace—         The veil—for me! Manhattan shores—a New World place,   The Pinxter-blows their sweetest be: And now—come close, O love-bright face—   Bend low—…             Nay, not old Trinity, To Olde Sainte Marke’s i’ the Bowerie,         Dear Hal,—with thee!