HERE on my desk it lies, Here as the daylight dies, One small glove just her size— Six and a quarter; Pearly gray, a colour neat, @3Deux boutons@1 all complete, Faint scented, soft and sweet; Could glove be smarter? Can I the day forget, Years ago, when the pet Gave it me?—where we met Still I remember; Then 'twas the summer time; Now as I write this rhyme Children love pantomime— 'Tis December. Fancy my boyish bliss Then when she gave me this, And how the frequent kiss Crumpled its fingers; Then she was fair and kind, Now, when I've changed my mind, Still some scent undefined On the glove lingers. Though she's a matron sage, Yet I have kept the gage; While, as I pen this page, Still comes a goddess, Her eldest daughter, fair, With the same eyes and hair; Happy the arm I swear, That clasps her bodice. Heaven grant her fate be bright, And her step ever light As it will be to-night, First in the dances. Why did her mother prove False when I dared to love? Zounds! I shall burn the glove! This my romance is. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NURSING HOME: THE CANARY by KAREN SWENSON SONNET: 104 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONNET TO HOPE by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS BIRD CONVERSATIONS, SELECTION by FARID OD-DIN MOHAMMAD EBN EBRAHIM ATTAR THE LAST MAN: BONA DE MORTUIS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE METHOD OF THE MAD MULLAH by BERTON BRALEY |