Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/123

 's many a temple high,

That towers above the plain—

But oftener times have I

On thy soft bosom lain,

Than all those temples number'd:

I'll slumber where I've slumber'd,

Till earth is whelm'd again.

THE shame-faced maiden fain would shy

The modest youth—but ah! she knows

He saw her—and she hurries by,

Deep-blushing like a scarlet rose.

youth—are you afraid.

And could you not your thoughts disguise?

For when you pass'd the blushing maid,

You pull'd your klobuk o'er your eyes.