Page:Heath's Book of Beauty 1836.pdf/3



, lovely lady mine, Take my hand and tell me All that may my lot befall, All that e'er befell me.

Wilt thou read the past for me? No—no, leave it lonely; I will task thine art and thee For the future only.

Who could think upon the past With such smile before them? Life is lighted at the eyes That are shining o'er them.

Spread the cards, and let me see What fine skill thou sharest— Is a lady fair as hearts, Shining there the fairest?

Is a letter on its way? Have I cause to tremble At the rage the knave of clubs Labours to dissemble?

Does my wish come out? Ah, no!   Vain is all my scheming— Fling the faithless cards aside, This is idle dreaming.