It was finer than silk of the floss--my pet;
'Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist,
'Twas a thing to be braided, and jewelled, and kissed--
'Twas the loveliest hair in the world--my pet.

My arm was the arm of a clown, Janette,
It was sinewy, bristled, and brown--my pet;
But warmly and softly it loved to caress
Your round white neck and your wealth of tress,
Your beautiful plenty of hair--my pet.

Your eyes had a swimming glory, Janette.
Revealing the old, dear story--my pet;
They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky
When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly,
And they matched with your golden hair--my pet.

Your lips--but I have no words, Janette--
They were fresh as the twitter of birds--my pet,
When the spring is young, and the roses are wet,
With the dewdrops in each red bosom set,
And they suited your gold brown hair--my pet.

Oh, you tangled my life in your hair, Janette,
'Twas a silken and golden snare--my pet;
But, so gentle the bondage, my soul did implore
The right to continue your slave evermore,
With my fingers enmeshed in your hair--my pet.

Thus ever I dream what you were, Janette,
With your lips, and your eyes, and your hair--my pet,
In the darkness of desolate years I moan,
And my tears fall bitterly over the stone
That covers your golden hair--my pet.

Charles Graham Halpine [1829-1868]

THE DYING LOVER

The grass that is under me now
Will soon be over me, Sweet;
When you walk this way again
I shall not hear your feet.

You may walk this way again,
And shed your tears like dew;
They will be no more to me then
Than mine are now to you!

Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903]

"WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME"

When the grass shall cover me,
Head to foot where I am lying;
When not any wind that blows,
Summer blooms nor winter snows,
Shall awake me to your sighing:
Close above me as you pass,
You will say, "How kind she was,"
You will say, "How true she was,"
When the grass grows over me.

When the grass shall cover me,
Holden close to earth's warm bosom,--
While I laugh, or weep, or sing,
Nevermore, for anything,
You will find in blade and blossom,
Sweet small voices, odorous,
Tender pleaders in my cause,
That shall speak me as I was--
When the grass grows over me.

When the grass shall cover me!
Ah, beloved, in my sorrow
Very patient, I can wait,
Knowing that, or soon or late,
There will dawn a clearer morrow:
When your heart will m