  “DEAR COY COQUETTE, BUT ONCE WE MET.” DEAR coy coquette, but once we met— But once, and yet ’twas once too often, Plunged unawares in silvery snares, All vain my prayers her heart to soften; Yet seems so true her eyes of blue, Veined lids and longest lashes under, Good angels dwelt therein, I felt, And could have knelt in reverent wonder. Poor heart, alas! what eye could pass The auburn mass of curls caressing Her pure white brow, made regal now By this simplicity of dressing. Lips dewy, red as Cupid’s bed Of rose-leaves shed on Mount Hymettus, With balm imbued they might be wooed, But ah! coy prude, she will not let us. No jewels deck her radiant neck— What pearl could reck its hue to rival? A pin of gold—the fashion old— A ribbon-fold, or some such trifle; And—beauty chief! the lily’s leaf In dark relief sets off the whiteness Of all the breast not veiled and pressed Beneath her collar’s Quaker tightness. And milk-white robes o’er snowier globes As Roman maids are drawn by Gibbon, With classic taste are gently braced Around her waist beneath a ribbon; Profuse and bold—a silken torrent— Not hide, but dim each rounded limb, Well-turned, and trim, and plump, I warrant. Oh, Quaker maid, were I more staid, Or you a shade less archly pious; If soberest suit from crown to boot Could chance uproot your Quaker bias, How gladly so, in weeds of woe, From head to toe my frame I’d cover, That in the end the convert “friend” Might thus ascend—a convert lover. Charles Graham Halpin. |
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