Poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford

His Sweetheart

Sylvia's lattices were dark­
 Roses made them narrow.
In the dawn there came a Spark,
 Armèd with an arrow:
Blithe he burst by dewy spray,
 Winged by bud and blossom,
All undaunted urged his way
 Straight to Sylvia's bosom.
'Sylvia! Sylvia! Sylvia!' he
 Like a bee kept humming,
'Wake, my sweeting; waken thee,
 For thy Soldier's coming!'
Sylvia sleeping in the dawn,
 Dreams that Cupid's trill is
Roses singing on the lawn,
 Courting crested lilies.
Sylvia smiles and Sylvia sleeps,
 Sylvia weeps and slumbers;
Cupid to her pink ear creeps,
 Pipes his pretty numbers.
Sylvia dreams that bugles play,
 Hears a martial drumming;
Sylvia springs to meet the day
 With her Soldier coming.

Happy Sylvia, on thee wait
 All the gracious graces!
Venus mild her cestus plait
 Round thy lawns and laces!
Flora fling a flower most fair,
 Hope a rainbow lend thee!
All the nymphs to Cupid dear
 On this day befriend thee!
'Sylvia! Sylvia! Sylvia!' hear
 How he keeps a-humming,
Laughing in her jewelled ear,
 'Sweet, thy Soldier's coming!'

1. Late Loved - Well Loved
2. The Helot
3. The Camp of Souls
4. A Battle
5. Bouche-Mignonne

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