A Gage D’Amour

Charles,—for it seems you wish to know,—  
You wonder what could scare me so,  
And why, in this long-locked bureau,  
 With trembling fingers,—  
With tragic air, I now replace  
This ancient web of yellow lace,  
Among whose faded folds the trace  
 Of perfume lingers.  
 
Friend of my youth, severe as true,  
I guess the train your thoughts pursue;
But this my state is nowise due  
 To indigestion;  
I had forgotten it was there,  
A scarf that Some-one used to wear.  
Hinc illæ lacrimæ,—so spare
 Your cynic question.  
 
Some-one who is not girlish now,  
And wed long since. We meet and bow;  
I don’t suppose our broken vow  
 Affects us keenly;
Yet, trifling though my act appears,  
Your Sternes would make it ground for tears;—  
One can’t disturb the dust of years,  
 And smile serenely.  
 
“My golden locks” are gray and chill,
For hers,—let them be sacred still;  
But yet, I own, a boyish thrill  
 Went dancing through me,  
Charles, when I held yon yellow lace;  
For, from its dusty hiding-place,
Peeped out an arch, ingenuous face  
 That beckoned to me.  
 
We shut our heart up nowadays,  
Like some old music-box that plays  
Unfashionable airs that raise
 Derisive pity;  
Alas,—a nothing starts the spring;  
And lo, the sentimental thing  
At once commences quavering  
 Its lover’s ditty.  
 
Laugh, if you like. The boy in me,—  
The boy that was,—revived to see  
The fresh young smile that shone when she,  
 Of old, was tender.  
Once more we trod the Golden Way,—
That mother you saw yesterday,  
And I, whom none can well portray  
 As young, or slender.  
 
She twirled the flimsy scarf about  
Her pretty head, and stepping out,
Slipped arm in mine, with half a pout  
 Of childish pleasure.  
Where we were bound no mortal knows,  
For then you plunged in Ireland’s woes,  
And brought me blankly back to prose
 And Gladstone’s measure.  
 
Well, well, the wisest bend to Fate.  
My brown old books around me wait,  
My pipe still holds, unconfiscate,  
 Its wonted station.
Pass me the wine. To Those that keep  
The bachelor’s secluded sleep  
Peaceful, inviolate, and deep,  
 I pour libation.