  AH Phyllis! did I only dare To hope that, as the years go by, And you, a maid divinely fair, The cynosure of every eye, Have fixed the wandering minds of men, And found a fare for scores of hearses, You still will open, now and then, Or did I, bolder yet, aspire To hope that any phrase of mine, Aglow with memory’s cheering fire Will burn within that heart of thine; Although my brow be bare of bays, My coffers not replete with gain, I shall not—what’s the foolish phrase?— Have written quite in vain. J. K. Stephen. |
|
