WHAT spiteful chance steals unawares Wherever lovers come, And trips the nimblest brain and scares The bravest feelings dumb? We had one minute at the gate, Before the others came; To-morrow it would be too late, And whose would be the blame! I gazed at her, she glanced at me; Alas! the time sped by: "How warm it is to-day!" said she; "It looks like rain," said I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FAREWELL TO FOLLY: CONTENT by ROBERT GREENE A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP by THOMAS MOORE COR CORDIUM by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE NOT TO BE MINISTERED TO by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE RABBI'S VISION by FRANCES BROWNE THE MAN; ADDRESSED TO MY ALMA MATER by SAMUEL VALENTINE COLE THE POET'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT TO MRS. THROCKMORTON by WILLIAM COWPER |