ABSTRACT
Bertram Lawrence (pseud, of J. F. Bloxam). From The Artist, October 1894 (new Style). Written August 1894. Love tarried for a moment on his way, Against my cheek his curly head he lay; He said that he would never leave my breast If I would give him what I valued best. Mine arms went out to greet him then and there, What heart had I to cast out one so fair? He whispered that his little feet were sore, He was so weary he could go no more, He showed the wounds upon his tender flesh, And, as he whispered, bound me in his mesh. He whispered in mine ear his piteous tale, What heart had I to cast out one so frail? I kissed his little hands, his lips, his hair, And kissing gave my soul into his care, Love laughed a little, like a child at play, – ‘Regretted that he could no longer stay, He had so many things to do today.’ – Another moment Love was far away.
