THE OLD LOVE-LETTERS
by Constance Naden
Today I've discovered a treasure
Tied up with a ribbon of blue;
That record of pain and of pleasure,
A packet of old billets-doux.
The note-paper, quite out of fashion,
The date of ten summers ago,
Recall the unreasoning passion
Of juvenile rapture and woe.
No face was so lovely as Minnie's,
I praised it in prose and in verse;
Her curls were like piles of new guineas,
Alas, she had none in her purse!
I loved her for beauty and kindness,
I grieved when I fancied her cold,
But Cupid, quite cured of his blindness,
Now takes a good aim at the gold.
To fair Lady Flora, the heiress,
I've offered my love and my life;
Repenting of ancient vagaries,
I'll settle to wealth and a wife.
The heat of my boyhood is banished
Alike from my heart and my head;
The comet for ever has vanished,
But fireworks will answer instead.
I've kept all my ardent effusions,
Appeal, protestation, and vow:
I'm cured of my youthful delusions,
And can't write such love-letters now.
The thing was excessively silly,
But then we were only eighteen,
And she was all rose-bud and lily,
And I was uncommonly green.
I'm happy to say she was fickle,
She blighted my love with a frown;
It withered, ere Time with his sickle
Could cut the first blossoming down.
We parted, how well I remember
That gloomy yet fortunate day !
It seemed like the ghost of December,
Aroused by the frolics of May.
I shook myself loose from her fetters,
(I did not express it so then);
'Twas well she returned me the letters,
For now I can use them again.
I am not afraid of detection,
I cast all my scruples away;
The embers of former affection
Shall kindle the fire of today.
The Old Love-Letters
TO-DAY I've discovered a treasure
Tied up with a ribbon of blue;
That record of pain and of pleasure,
A packet of old billets-doux.
The note-paper, quite out of fashion,
The date of ten summers ago,
Recall the unreasoning passion
Of juvenile rapture and woe.
No face was so lovely as Minnie's,
I praised it in prose and in verse;
Her curls were like piles of new guineas--
Alas, she had none in her purse!
I loved her for beauty and kindness,
I grieved when I fancied her cold,
But Cupid, quite cured of his blindness,
Now takes a good aim at the gold.
To fair Lady Flora, the heiress,
I've offered my love and my life;
Repenting of ancient vagaries,
I'll settle to wealth and a wife.
The heat of my boyhood is banished
Alike from my heart and my head;
The comet for ever has vanished,
But fireworks will answer instead.
I've kept all my ardent effusions,
Appeal, protestation, and vow:
I'm cured of my youthful delusions,
And can't write such love-letters now.
The thing was excessively silly,
But then we were only eighteen,
And she was all rose-bud and lily,
And I was uncommonly green.
I'm happy to say she was fickle,
She blighted my love with a frown;
It withered, ere Time with his sickle
Could cut the first blossoming down.
We parted--how well I remember
That gloomy yet fortunate day!
It seemed like the ghost of December,
Aroused by the frolics of May.
I shook myself loose from her fetters--
(I did not express it so then);
'Twas well she returned me the letters,
For now I can use them again.
I am not afraid of detection,
I cast all my scruples away;
The embers of former affection
Shall kindle the fire of to-day.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/The-Old-Love-Letters#sthash.uYKi9xue.dpuf
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