A Great Prize

Could I but speak to her; ah me!

     ‘Twould raise the clouds of doubt;

Each day her peerless face I see,

     Her sometimes saucy pout,

And I must sit not far away

     And view her changeful eyes;

The smiles which o’er her features play,

     And murmur not but sighs.

Could I but speak to her! The days

     Speed on, – no word is passed;

She holdeth still her piquant ways, –

     My lips are mute and fast;

But, ah! someday this tide must turn,

     I’ll win my treasure yet;

You see I’ve started in to learn

     The dummy alphabet.

May 4, ‘94

 May 20, ‘94

Pub. in B. Courier

 Copied in Judge

(Sign language?)