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THE EVENING STAR.
167
"If I bent to him for a little while,
It was only the whim of a lady gay."
It was only the whim of a lady gay."
Trifle again with the vibrant guitar:
But the boy you scorn has reached your side,
And, looking away at the evening star,
You drop for a moment your sceptre of pride.
But the boy you scorn has reached your side,
And, looking away at the evening star,
You drop for a moment your sceptre of pride.
The star is leaning out of the skies,
To hearken to passionate words and low:
"I love"—and "I love," your heart replies,
Whether your lips assent or no.
To hearken to passionate words and low:
"I love"—and "I love," your heart replies,
Whether your lips assent or no.
What if you turn his fear to joy?
Yield him the heart he dares implore?
Lean on the swelling breast of the boy,
And love him and love him for evermore?
Yield him the heart he dares implore?
Lean on the swelling breast of the boy,
And love him and love him for evermore?
Your cheeks are hot, O lady proud!
They prate of the pained heart's rapid throes;.
But over the star there sweeps a cloud,
And you—are crushing the half-blown rose.
They prate of the pained heart's rapid throes;.
But over the star there sweeps a cloud,
And you—are crushing the half-blown rose.
Fine is the pride of the steady eye,
Of the curving lip, and the stately head;
Measured and clear, with never a sigh,
Are the words of the cruel falsehood said.
Of the curving lip, and the stately head;
Measured and clear, with never a sigh,
Are the words of the cruel falsehood said.
