New Zealand Verse/Of a Lady
For other versions of this work, see Of a Lady.
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.)
She likes this shaded corner best,
The rosy lamp, the Dresden set,
A friend or two, perhaps, a waft
Of mignonette.
The rosy lamp, the Dresden set,
A friend or two, perhaps, a waft
Of mignonette.
And some one touches in the gloom
The harp’s mysterious, wailing strings,
And thoughts that never spoke in words
Take music’s wings.
The harp’s mysterious, wailing strings,
And thoughts that never spoke in words
Take music’s wings.
Dear friend, though tired and far away,
I still can seek your door in Spain,
Sit still beside your fire and drink
That tea again!
I still can seek your door in Spain,
Sit still beside your fire and drink
That tea again!