WEYMOUTH.

I dwelt in the shade of a city,

She far by the sea,

With folk perhaps good, gracious, witty;

But never with me.

Her form on the ballroom's smooth flooring

I never once met,

To guide her with accents adoring

Through Weippert's “First Set.”

I spent my life's seasons with pale ones

In Vanity Fair,

And she enjoyed hers among hale ones

In salt-smelling air.

Maybe she had eyes of deep colour,

Maybe they were blue,

Maybe as she aged they got duller;

That never I knew.

She may have had lips like the coral,

But I never kissed them,

Saw pouting, nor curling in quarrel,

Nor sought for, nor missed them.

Not a word passed of love all our lifetime,

Between us, nor thrill;

We'd never a husband-and-wife time,

For good or for ill.

Yet as one dust, through bleak days and vernal,

Lie I and lies she,

This never-known lady, eternal

Companion to me!