Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 8/Gifts
GIFTS.
I.
I gave my love a bracelet on her natal day—
The light was dancing on the lea—
Its sparkling gems shook lustre when ’twas worn,
From beds of filagree;
And seem’d to laugh and speak, upon her arm,
Like children on their pillows white and warm.
“This for thy hand,” I said; “soon mine”—
With that she ’gan the amulet untwine;
And cried, “Thou buyest me, like a slave!”—
Then stopping, red, a look of love she gave.
II.
In the sweet haying-time, I made a crown of flowers—
The light was dancing on the lea—
I stole bright blossoms from the butterfly
And honey-seeking bee.
Holding my wreath above her shining head,
“Soon thou art mine;—why art thou sad?” I said.
“The Past was happy,” she replied;
“The Future is a dangerous path, untried;”—
Then leant her brow upon my breast,
And if she fear’d, soon charm’d her fear to rest.
III.
Next morn, when village bells were pealing forth our joy—
The light was dancing on the lea—
We fled the rustic mirth of happy friends,
For happier secrecy;
And neath the shadows of a summer wood
We sipped the cup of Earth’s beatitude.
“This ring is all my gift to-day.”
She, sitting closer, whispered, “Nay, love, nay,
Thou givest thyself—a gift divine.
This day I feel thy heart, thought, life, are mine!”