M. E. H. EVERETT.
_Madisonensis_.
~With My Cigar.~
With my cigar I sit alone,
Alone in twilight's undertone,
With wav'ring shadows growing deep,
While long-forgotten faces peep
Midst curling mists of smoke, now blown
Into a frame that doth enthrone
A face that from my heart hath grown.
Sweet mem'ries o'er my being creep,
With my cigar.
Those hazel eyes on me have shone,
Those roguish lips have pressed my own,
And this the harvest that I reap!
And this the sweetness that I keep,
To wake, to find the vision flown
With my cigar!
JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY.
_Brunonian_.
~To Waltz with Thee.~
To waltz with thee, my pretty belle,
To silver music's magic spell,
Was such a strange unmixed delight
That I had wished the merry night
Into eternity might swell.
* * * *
Terpsichore ne'er danced so well!
Can all the Graces in thee dwell?
My soul was raised to such a height
To waltz with thee.
Enchanting strains now rose, now fell,
Thy charms what raptures would compel!
Thy feet were winged, thy figure slight,
Thy winning tread, entrancing, light,--
What bliss to me that night befell,
To waltz with thee!
GEORGE B. ZUG.
_Amherst Literary Monthly._
~To Maude's Guitar.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64