Page:Poems Piatt.djvu/128

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114
AFTER THE QUARREL.
None with eyes like his? Oh—oh!
In diviner ones did I
Look, perhaps, an hour ago.
Whose? Indeed (you must not cry)
Those I thought of—are not free
To laugh down your tears, you see.

Voice like his was never heard?
No—but better ones, I vow;
Did you ever hear a bird?—
Listen, one is singing now!
And his gloves? His gloves? Ah, well,
There are gloves like his to sell.

At the play to-night you'll see,
In mock-velvet cloaks, mock earls
With mock-jewelled swords, that he
Were a clown by—Now, those curls
Are the barber's pride, I say;
Do not cry for them, I pray.

If no one should love you? Why,
You can love some other still:
Philip Sidney, Shakespeare, ay,
Good King Arthur, if you will;
Raphael—he was handsome too.
Love them one and all. I do.