To kiss my Celia’s fairer breast,
The snow forsakes its native skies,
But proving an unwelcome guest,
It grieves, dissolves in tears, and dies.
Its touch, like mine, but serves to wake
Through all her frame a death-like chill,—
Its tears, like those I shed, to make
That icy bosom colder still.
I blame her not; from...
The saviour, bowed beneath his cross, climbed up the dreary hill,
And from the agonizing wreath ran many a crimson rill;
The cruel Roman thrust him on with un-relenting hand,
Till, staggering slowly mid the crowd, He fell upon the sand.
A little bird that warbled near, that memorable day,
Flitted around and strove to wrench one single thorn away;...
Come show thy Durham Breast
To her who loves thee best,
Delicious Robin —
And if it be not me
At least within my Tree
Do the avowing —
Thy Nuptial so minute
Perhaps is more astute
Than vaster suing —
For so to soar away
Is our propensity
The Day...
Her breast is fit for pearls,
But I was not a "Diver" —
Her brow is fit for thrones
But I have not a crest.
Her heart is fit for home —
I — a Sparrow — build there
Sweet of twigs and twine
My perennial nest.
*
To Chloes breast young Cupid slily stole
But he crept in at Myras pocket hole
Unworthy of her Breast
Though by that scathing test
What Soul survive?
By her exacting light
How counterfeit the white
We chiefly have!
