Poetry Archives

Oh, I can jest with Margaret
 And laugh a gay good-night,
But when I take my Helen’s hand
 I dare not clasp it tight.

I dare not hold her dear white hand
 More than a quivering space,
And I should bless a breeze that blew
 Her hair into my face.

‘T is Margaret I call sweet names:
 Helen is too, too dear
For me to stammer little words
 Of love into her ear.

So now, good-night, fair Margaret,
 And kiss me e’er we part!
But one dumb touch of Helen’s hand,
 And, oh, my heart, my heart!