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CITY MAID TO COUNTRY LOVER.
[Margaret.]
THINK you, dear, that I could love you
Were you such a one as these —
Never looking up above you,
Never stirred by heavenly breeze ;
With their calm and courtly graces,
Deadly weak and false at heart,
With the smile upon their faces
Ghastly weary of its part ?
No, I will not wrong them, dearest,
Some are noble men and true ;
And I need not dim the clearest,
That he may look dull by you.
Such he must be, my one planet,
Bright with myriads, or alone,
As your Greek, howe'er you scan it,
Is the finest language known.
