A Kiss

O BABBLING Spring, than glass more clear, Worthy of wreath and cup sincere, To-morrow shall a kid be thine With swelled and sprouting brows for sign,—…

The Printer's is a happy lot: Alone of all professions, No fateful smudges ever blot His earliest 'impressions.'The outgrowth of his youthful ken…

'Tis an old dial, dark with many a stain; In summer crowned with drifting orchard bloom, Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain, And white in winter like a marble tomb.And round about its gray, time-eaten brow…

OUT from the City’s dust and roar, You wandered through the open door; Paused at a plaything pail and spade Across a tiny hillock laid;…

Here is this leafy place Quiet he lies, Cold, with his sightless face Turn'd to the skies:…

HOW steadfastly she worked at it! How lovingly had drest With all her would-be-mother’s wit That little rosy nest!How longingly she ’d hung on it!—…

You bid me try, blue-eyes, to write A Rondeau. What! - forthwith? - tonight? Reflect. Some skill I have, 'tis true; But thirteen lines! - and rimed on two! 'Refrain' as well. Ah, Hapless plight!Still, there are five lines - ranged aright. These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright…

DEAR COSMOPOLITAN,—I know I should address you a Rondeau, Or else announce what I ’ve to say At least en Ballade fratriseé…