Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/Enigma
My love to me is cold,
And no more seeks my gaze; I wonder why!
The smile of welcome that I loved of old
No longer lights her eye.
And no more seeks my gaze; I wonder why!
The smile of welcome that I loved of old
No longer lights her eye.
One little week ago
I asked no surer guide than Cupid's chart;
I said, Your eyes reveal the depths below,
And I can read your heart."
I asked no surer guide than Cupid's chart;
I said, Your eyes reveal the depths below,
And I can read your heart."
She let her shy gaze fall,
And smiling asked, "Is then my face a screed,
My brow an open love-letter, where all
The world my thoughts may read?
And smiling asked, "Is then my face a screed,
My brow an open love-letter, where all
The world my thoughts may read?
Said I, "The world, I'll vow,
Is blind! Myself alone may see the signs,
And know the message written on your brow:
I read between the lines."
Is blind! Myself alone may see the signs,
And know the message written on your brow:
I read between the lines."
My dear to me is cold;
Gone somewhere is the love-light from her eye;
And, when our ways meet, stately she doth hold
Her course. I wonder why.
Gone somewhere is the love-light from her eye;
And, when our ways meet, stately she doth hold
Her course. I wonder why.