Poetry Archives

Love used to carry a bow, you know,
  But now he carries a taper;
It is either a length of wax aglow,
  Or a twist of lighted paper.

I pondered a little about the scamp,
  And then I decided to follow
His wandering journey to field and camp,
  Up hill, down dale or hollow.

I dogged the rollicking, gay, young blade
  In every species of weather;
Till, leading me straight to the home of a maid
  He left us there together.

And then I saw it, oh, sweet surprise,
  The taper it set a-burning
The love-light brimming my lady’s eyes,
  And my heart with the fire of yearning.