Читать книгу The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe - Various - Страница 56

O Maryanne, you pretty girl,

Intent on silky labor,

Of sempstresses the pink and pearl,

Excuse a peeping neighbor!

Those eyes, forever drooping, give

The long brown lashes rarely;

But violets in the shadows live—

For once unvail them fairly.

Hast thou not lent that flounce enough

Of looks so long and earnest?

Lo, here's more "penetrable stuff,"

To which thou never turnest.

Ye graceful fingers, deftly sped!

How slender, and how nimble!

O might I wind their skeins of thread,

Or but pick up their thimble!

How blest the youth whom love shall bring,

And happy stars embolden,

To change the dome into a ring,

The silver into golden!

Who'll steal some morning to her side

To take her finger's measure,

While Maryanne pretends to chide,

And blushes deep with pleasure.

Who'll watch her sew her wedding-gown,

Well conscious that it IS hers,

Who'll glean a tress, without a frown, With those so ready scissors.

Who'll taste those ripenings of the south,

The fragrant and delicious—

Don't put the pins into your mouth,

O Maryanne, my precious!

I almost wish it were my trust

To teach how shocking that is;

I wish I had not, as I must,

To quit this tempting lattice.

Sure aim takes Cupid, fluttering foe,

Across a street so narrow;

A thread of silk to string his bow,

A needle for his arrow!