Her Miniature

From out this tiny locket rare,

     Her dear, old fashioned face

Looks on me with a pensive air,

     With wondrous truth and grace.

The glass with which I magnify

     Her neck, her snowy arms,

But tends to rich and multiply

     Her overwhelming charms.

I love her, yes, I love her well,

     So dainty, so demure;

There seems to hang a magic spell

     Around her miniature.

She’s married now, but ‘tis no crime

     To love her, I aver;

And were I born in father’s time,

     He’d have had to fight for her!

April 20, ‘97

Pub.

Camb. Chronicle,

July 3, ‘97