Читать книгу The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe - Various - Страница 46

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I know not who thou art, thou lovely one,

Thine eyes were drooped, thy lips half sorrowful,

Yet didst thou eloquently smile on me,

While handing up thy sixpence through the hole

Of that o'er-freighted omnibus!—ah, me!—

The world is full of meetings such as this;

A thrill—a voiceless challenge and reply,

And sudden partings after—we may pass,

And know not of each other's nearness now,

Thou in the Knickerbocker line, and I

Lone in the Waverley! Oh! life of pain;

And even should I pass where thou dost dwell—

Nay, see thee in the basement taking tea—

So cold is this inexorable world,

I must glide on, I dare not feast mine eye,

I dare not make articulate my love,

Nor o'er the iron rails that hem thee in

Venture to throw to thee my innocent card,

Not knowing thy papa.

Hast thou papa?

Is thy progenitor alive, fair girl?

And what doth he for lucre? Lo again!

A shadow o'er the face of this fair dream!

For thou may'st be as beautiful as Love

Can make thee, and the ministering hands

Of milliners, incapable of more,

Be lifted at thy shapeliness and air,

And still 'twixt me and thee, invisibly,

May rise a wall of adamant. My breath

Upon my pale lip freezes as I name

Manhattan's orient verge, and eke the west

In its far down extremity. Thy sire

May be the signer of a temperance pledge,

And clad all decently may walk the earth—

Nay—may be number'd with that blessed few

Who never ask for discount—yet, alas!

If, homeward wending from his daily cares,

He go by Murphy's Line, thence eastward tending—

Or westward from the Line of Kipp & Brown—

My vision is departed! Harshly falls

The doom upon the ear, "She's not genteel!"

And pitiless is woman who doth keep

Of "good society" the golden key!

And gentlemen are bound, as are the stars,

To stoop not after rising!

But farewell,

And I shall look for thee in streets where dwell

The passengers by Broadway Lines alone!

And if my dreams be true, and thou, indeed,

Art only not more lovely than genteel—

Then, lady of the snow-white chemisette,

The heart which vent'rously cross'd o'er to thee

Upon that bridge of sixpence, may remain—

And, with up-town devotedness and truth,

My love shall hover round thee!