Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes! My bride hath need of no disguise.— But, rather, let her come to me In such a form as bent above My pillow when, in infancy, I knew not anything but love.— O let her come from out the lands Of Womanhood—not fairy isles,— And let her come with Woman’s hands And Woman’s eyes of tears and smiles,— With Woman’s hopefulness and grace Of patience lighting up her face: And let her diadem be wrought Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, That ever over all distress May beam the light of cheerfulness.— And let her feet be brave to fare The labyrinths of doubt and care, That, following, my own may find The path to Heaven God designed.— O let her come like this to me— My bride—my bride that is to be.
Jest Frank Reed’s his _real_ name—though Boys all calls him “Ringworm Frank,” ’Cause he allus _runs round_ so.— No man can’t tell where to bank _Frank_’ll be, Next you see Er _hear_ of him!—Drat his melts!— That man’s allus _somers else_!
We’re old pards.—But Frank he jest _Can’t_ stay still!—Wuz _prosper’n’_ here, But lit out on furder West Somers on a ranch, last year: Never heard Nary a word _How_ he liked it, tel to-day, Got this card, reads thisaway:—
“Dad-burn climate out here makes Me homesick all Winter long, And when Springtime _comes_, it takes Two pee-wees to sing one song,— One sings ‘_pee_,’ And the other one ‘_wee!_’ Stay right where you air, old pard,— Wisht _I_ wuz this postal card!”
An empty glove—long withering in the grasp Of Time’s cold palm. I lift it to my lips,— And lo, once more I thrill beneath its clasp, In fancy, as with odorous finger-tips It reaches from the years that used to be And proffers back love, life and all, to me.
Ah! beautiful she was beyond belief: Her face was fair and lustrous as the moon’s; Her eyes—too large for small delight or grief,— The smiles of them were Laughter’s afternoons; Their tears were April showers, and their love— All sweetest speech swoons ere it speaks thereof.
White-fruited cocoa shown against the shell Were not so white as was her brow below The cloven tresses of the hair that fell Across her neck and shoulders of nude snow; Her cheeks—chaste pallor, with a crimson stain— Her mouth was like a red rose rinsed with rain.