ERE the morn the East has crimsoned, When the stars are twinkling there, (As they did in Watts's Hymns, and Made him wonder what they were:) When the forest-nymphs are beading Fern and flower with silvery dew -- My infallible proceeding Is to wake, and think of you. When the hunter's ringing bugle Sounds farewell to field and copse, And I sit before my frugal Meal of gravy-soup and chops: When (as Gray remarks) "the moping Owl doth to the moon complain," And the hour suggests eloping -- Fly my thoughts to you again. May my dreams be granted never? Must I aye endure affliction Rarely realized, if ever, In our wildest works of fiction? Madly Romeo loved his Juliet; Copperfield began to pine When he hadn't been to school yet -- But their loves were cold to mine. Give me hope, the least, the dimmest, Ere I drain the poisoned cup: Tell me I may tell the chymist Not to make that arsenic up! Else the heart must cease to throb in This my breast; and when, in tones Hushed, men ask, "Who killed Cock Robin?" They'll be told, "Miss Clara J-----s." |