Though slender walls our hearths divide, No word has passed from either side, Your days, red-lettered all, must glide Unvexed by labour:
I've seen you weep, and could have wept; I've heard you sing, and may have slept; Sometimes I hear your chimneys swept, My charming neighbour!
Your pets are mine. Pray what may ail The pup, once eloquent of tail? I wonder why your nightingale Is mute at sunset!
Your puss, demure and pensive, seems Too fat to mouse. She much esteems Yon sunny wall — and sleeps and dreams Of mice she once ate.
Our tastes agree. I doat upon Frail jars, turquoise and celadon, The “Wedding March” of Mendelssohn, And Penseroso.
When sorely tempted to purloin Your pieta of Marc Antoine, Fair Virtue doth fair play enjoin, Fair Virtuoso!
At times an Ariel, cruel-kind, Will kiss my lips, and stir your blind, And whisper low, “She hides behind; Thou art not lonely.”
The tricksy sprite did erst assist At hushed Verona's moonlight tryst; Sweet Capulet! thou wert not kissed By light winds only.
I miss the simple days of yore, When two long braids of hair you wore, And chat botte was wondered o'er, In corner cosy.
But gaze not back for tales like those: ‘ Tis all in order, I suppose, The Bud is now a blooming ROSE,— A rosy posy!
Indeed, farewell to bygone years; How wonderful the change appears — For curates now and cavaliers In turn perplex you:
The last are birds of feather gay, Who swear the first are birds of prey; I'd scare them all had I my way, But that might vex you.
At times I've envied, it is true, That joyous hero, twenty-two, Who sent bouquets and billets-doux, And wore a sabre.
The rogue! how tenderly he wound His arm round one who never frowned; He loves you well. Now, is he bound To love my neighbour?
The bells are ringing. As is meet, White favours fascinate the street, Sweet faces greet me, rueful-sweet ‘ Twixt tears and laughter:
They crowd the door to see her go — The bliss of one brings many woe — Oh! kiss the bride, and I will throw The old shoe after.
What change in one short afternoon,— My Charming Neighbour gone,— so soon! Is yon pale orb her honey-moon Slow rising hither?
O lady, wan and marvellous, How often have we communed thus; Sweet memories shall dwell with us, And joy go with her!
Cookies on Poetry Cove