Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/127

Rh IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE

NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR

just a twinkle in your eye

That seems to say I might, if I

Were only bold enough to try

An arm about your waist.

I hear, too, as you come and go,

That pretty nervous laugh, you know;

And then your cap is always so

Coquettishly displaced.

Your cap! the word's profanely said.

That little top-knot, white and red,

That quaintly crowns your graceful head,

No bigger than a flower,