Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/78

 In your solitude still, do you sing the old songs?
 * O, the “Long Weary Day!” shall it cease for us never?

But here, in the ruck of the sumptuous throngs,
 * Your name in my lone heart is sacred forever!

Ah me! I am chill, for ’tis fearful to sit
 * By the Cobra, when languished with tenderer matters—

Ha! I see that my secret is guessed—every bit—
 * For she’s nibbling her lip, and the fan is in tatters.

Beautiful—yes! but I shall not succumb,
 * Though wifeless from Beersheba even to Dan;

Heigho! if my heart were but under her thumb,
 * She’d crumple it, too, like the innocent fan!