Too cold, O my brother, too cold for my wife
Is the Beauty you showed me this morning :
Nor yet have I found the sweet dream of my life,
And good-bye to the sneering and scorning.
Would you have me cast down in the dark of her frown,
Like others who bend at her shrine ;
And would barter their souls for a statue-like face,
And a heart that can never be mine ?
That can never be theirs nor mine.
Go after her, look at her, kneel at her feet,
And mimic the lover romantic ;
I have hated deceit, and she misses the treat
Of driving me hopelessly frantic !
Now watch her, as deep in her carriage she lies,
And love her, my friend, if you dare !
She would wither your life with her beautiful eyes,
And strangle your soul with her hair !
With a mesh of her splendid hair.
Henry Kendall, Poems and Songs, J. R. Clarke, Sydney, 1862, page 68