MY SWEETHEART.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 48, 28 November 1891, Page 632

MY SWEETHEART.

Whenever I play on the old guitar The songs that my sweetheart taught me, My thoughts go back to the summer time When first in her toils she caught me ; And once again I can hear the sound Of her gleeful voice blown over The meadow, sweet with the scent of thyme, And pink with the bloom of clover. The faded ribbon is hanging still Where her dimpled fingers tied it— I used to envy it stealing round Her neck, for she did not chide it; And the inlaid pearl that her ringlets touched As she leaned above it lightly Glows even now with a hint of gold That it once reflected brightly. \\ hether her eyes were as blue as the skies On a noon day in September, Or brown like those of a startled fawn, I can’t for the world remember ; But when she lifted them up to mine I know that my young heart tingled In time to the tender tune she sang And the airy chords she jingled. Yet now, though I sweep the dusty strings By her girlish spirit haunted, Till out of the old guitar there trips A melody, blithe, enchanted, My pulses keep on their even way _ And my heart has ceased its dancing, For somebody else sits under the spell Of the songs and the sidelong glances.

M. E. Wardwell.