POEMS.
31
TO A PHOTOGRAPH.
Your stern young face looks out to-night,
From most—incongruous of places—
My toilet-table's rose and white,
Half-hidden by its frills and laces:
Set with no gold nor precious stone,
But thrust into my mirror's moulding,
That the same scroll that frames my own
Should have yours, too, within its holding.
From most—incongruous of places—
My toilet-table's rose and white,
Half-hidden by its frills and laces:
Set with no gold nor precious stone,
But thrust into my mirror's moulding,
That the same scroll that frames my own
Should have yours, too, within its holding.
Absurd that I consult your eyes,
Half in excuse, half in defiance,
Lest some of my frivolities
Should break our fanciful alliance;
Absurd indeed, that I should care
For your boy scorn or disapproval,
When the same hand that placed you there
Has but to rise for your removal.
Half in excuse, half in defiance,
Lest some of my frivolities
Should break our fanciful alliance;
Absurd indeed, that I should care
For your boy scorn or disapproval,
When the same hand that placed you there
Has but to rise for your removal.
