AH, were I but the footstool e'en On which my loved one's foot doth rest, I ne'er to grumble should be seen, However hard I might be press'd. (@3The heart speaks@1.) Ah, were I but the cushion soft Wherein her pins she's wont to stick, And 'twere her will to prick me oft, I should rejoice at every prick. (@3The song speaks@1.) Ah, were I but the paper dear Wherewith she's wont her hair to curl, I'd gently whisper in her ear The thoughts that in me live and whirl | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT by EUGENE FIELD THE TEACHER by LESLIE PINCKNEY HILL THE OLD CHURCHYARD OF BONCHURCH by PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN by HENRY VAN DYKE A MOTHER'S HEART by CHRISTOPHER BANNISTER |