THE GLOW and the glory are plighted | |
| To darkness, for evening is come; | |
| The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted, | |
| The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb. | |
| I’m alone at my casement, for Pappy | 5 |
| Is summoned to dinner to Kew: | |
| I’m alone, dearest Fred, but I’m happy— | |
| I’m thinking of you. | |
| |
| I wish you were here! Were I duller | |
| Than dull, you’d be dearer than dear; | 10 |
| I am drest in your favorite colour— | |
| Dear Fred, how I wish you were here! | |
| I’m wearing my lazuli necklace, | |
| The necklace you fasten’d askew! | |
| Was there ever so rude or so reckless | 15 |
| A darling as you? | |
| |
| I want you to come and pass sentence | |
| On two or three books with a plot; | |
| Of course you know “Janet’s Repentance”? | |
| I’m reading Sir Waverley Scott, | 20 |
| The story of Edgar and Lucy, | |
| How thrilling, romantic, and true! | |
| The Master (his bride was a goosey!) | |
| Reminds me of you. | |
| |
| They tell me Cockaigne has been crowning | 25 |
| A poet whose garland endures; | |
| It was you who first spouted me Browning,— | |
| That stupid old Browning of yours! | |
| His vogue and his verve are alarming, | |
| I’m anxious to give him his due, | 30 |
| But, Fred, he’s not nearly so charming | |
| A poet as you! | |
| |
| I know how you shot at the Beeches, | |
| I saw how you rode Chanticleer, | |
| I have heard the report of your speeches, | 35 |
| And echo’d the echoing cheer. | |
| There’s a whisper of hearts you are breaking, | |
| Dear Fred, I believe it, I do! | |
| Small marvel that Fashion is making | |
| Her idol of you. | 40 |
| |
| Alas for the world, and its dearly | |
| Bought triumph, its fugitive bliss; | |
| Sometimes I half wish I were merely | |
| A plain or a penniless miss; | |
| But, perhaps, one is best “with a measure | 45 |
| Of pelf,” and I’m not sorry, too, | |
| That I’m pretty, because ’t is a pleasure, | |
| My darling, to you! | |
| |
| Your whim is for frolic and fashion, | |
| Your taste is for letters and art;— | 50 |
| This rhyme is the commonplace passion | |
| That glows in a fond woman’s heart: | |
| Lay it by in a dainty deposit | |
| For relics—we all have a few! | |
| Love, some day they’ll print it, because it | 55 |
| Was written to you. | |
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