Page 29 - Poetry-Romance

I raised my eyes. Pink ribbons trimmed her dress.
“Here, monsieur, take it. ‘Twas not hard to guess
What made you look this way. You longed to go.
You were so sleepy, nodding—see!—just so.
Ah, how I wished to help you, if I could!
I might have passed it possibly. I would
Have tried by ladies’ chain, from hand to hand,
To send it to you, but, you understand,
I felt a little timid—don’t you see?—
For fear they might suppose—Ah! pardon me;
I am too prone to talk. I’m keeping you.
Take it. Good-night.”
Sweet angel, pure and true!
My looks to their real cause she could refer,
And never thought one glance was meant for her.
Oh, simple trust, pure from debasing wiles!
I took my hat from her fair hand with smiles,
And hurrying back, sought out my whilom foe,
Exclaiming:
“Hear me, sir. Before I go,
Let me explain. You, sir, were in the right.
‘Twas not my hat attracted me to-night.
Forgive me, pardon me, I entreat, dear sir.
I love your daughter, and I gazed at her.”
“You, sir?”
He turned his big round eyes on me,
Then held his hand out.
“Well, well, we will see.”
Next day we talked. That’s how it came about.
And the result you see. My secret’s out.
It was last Tuesday, as I said, and even
Add, she’s an angel, and my home is—heaven.
Her father, mild in spite of mien severe,
Holds a high office—is no cuirassier.
Besides—a boon few bridegrooms can command—
He is a widower—so—you understand.

Now all this happiness, beyond a doubt,
By this silk hat I hold was brought about,
Or by its brother. Poor old English tile!
Many have sneered at thy ungainly style;

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