Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/188
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152
Of a Lady.
Rosalind! be thou the fane
For my soul’s uprising,
Where my heart may reach again
Thoughts of heaven’s devising:
Be the solace self-bestowed
In the shrine of Love’s abode!
For my soul’s uprising,
Where my heart may reach again
Thoughts of heaven’s devising:
Be the solace self-bestowed
In the shrine of Love’s abode!
LXXXIX.
Of a Lady.
Her house is nearly in the town,
Yet lilac branches shade her door;
Her tea is always on the board
At half-past four.
Yet lilac branches shade her door;
Her tea is always on the board
At half-past four.
Her fireside has a friendly look:
There’s something happy in the air;
Her cream is such you rarely now
Meet anywhere.
There’s something happy in the air;
Her cream is such you rarely now
Meet anywhere.
I like her eyes, I like her hair,
I like that pretty, simple dress
(Paris, and cost five hundred francs,
No penny less).
I like that pretty, simple dress
(Paris, and cost five hundred francs,
No penny less).
Pardon my inconsiderate words;
I should not write on themes like these.
(Her shoes are neat; you’d never think
They’re No. 3’s.)
I should not write on themes like these.
(Her shoes are neat; you’d never think
They’re No. 3’s.)