I have loved your face for many a year, My dear. Your sweet girl face has never changed, Nor your heart ranged, Always the same For me to claim And always near. Ours was a mercenary match. They say I bought you. I call you rather "a lucky catch." You were knocked down -- I caught you. No van nor villain gave the knock. I grabbed you from an auction block. A high-brow place for us to meet In an art store on Tremont Street. I was twenty -- you sixteen. Another case of "might have been." You were a peasant girl and I "A judge" -- of what to buy. Yes, I gave you all I had -- My own -- I dared not call on dad. The bank cashier thought I was mad, For I drew my last dollar. How I trembled at each bid, My rivals, with large bank accounts, I glared at till they thought I'd pounce. My fright by a grimace I hid, As your price grew taller. Had their bids gone a dollar higher, You'd smile now by another's fire. Now I am sixty, what of you? Dear Viennese, child to my view? If living, what? Did your sons fight In the Great War? Your grandsons might. Have they been starving? Have they been shot For pleading for the common lot? What terrors may have laid you low, In a grave where myrtles grow. -- But the fair child is all I know. Still from my walls Sweetly your girl face calls, For that is all I know of you -- Alas! -- adieu! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON JOSEPH'S COAT by GEORGE HERBERT THE MOTHERLAND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BEAUTY MAKES US HAPPY by PHILIP AYRES |