Her Reverie.

A lady combed her silken hair. None but a looking-glass would dare To gaze on such a scene. The blushes thronged her dimpled cheek; They coursed upon her shoulders, eke, And the white neck between.

And she was thinking then, I trow, Of one who, in a whispered vow Beneath the budding elm, Had told her they would sail their barque On lakes where pale stars pierced the dark, With Cupid at the helm.

Anon, a faint smile pursed her lips And shook her dainty finger-tips, As breezes shake the boughs; And then a quick, impetuous frown Came gathering from her ringlets down, And perched upon her brows.

Ah, she was thinking then, I ween, Of me, poor clumsy dunce, who e'en Had torn her silken dress. I waltzed too near her at the ball; Her beauty dazed me—that was all; I felt a dizziness.