Poem by Walter Learned

The Tryst

Am stretched on the grass and am watching the sky,
As the sunset clouds go drifting by,
And wondering whether such glorious weather,
Such blush of clouds, and such bloom of heather,
Would grow commonplace if it lasted forever,
And sunsets would pall if they faded never.

There’s a red cloud over that seems a boat:
What a charming thing it would be to float
Day after day in a lazy way,
With nothing to do and nothing to say;
With a book perhaps and a pipe no doubt,
And a chance to come down when you got tired out.

There’s a rustle of leaves, and a step on the grass,—
I descend from the clouds to see somebody pass.
Somebody’s young and very fair,
With a blush on her cheek and a rose in her hair;
She is walking down the path from town,
Dressed in a charmingly dainty gown.

She swings her hat, and the wind, not cold,
Yet not too warm nor overbold,
Just stirs the curls above her brow;
And, if it can wait, or the wind knows how,
It waits, I guess, to stop and press
On her cheek or her lip a light caress.

She waits, she lingers, she stops and turns,
But it isn’t for me her fancy yearns;
For — well-a-day! it is hard to say,
But at forty, one is rather pass!,
And a pretty young maid won’t wait, I’m afraid,
For a bachelor gray and beginning to fade.

I hear a whistle, I see her blush;
I fancied it might be a quail or thrush;
But never a bird whose note I’ve heard
Would have moved her pulses as they’ve been stirred;
And it wasn’t by fear. Ah, it’s very clear
That somebody, somebody’s coming near.

She quickens her pace and she casts down her eyes;
She means to pretend it was all a surprise.
“What! you here?” she will say—Now he leaps
o’er the wall.
They have met; he hends down ; he is handsome
and tall.
And though I’m not near, and can’t very well hear,
Yet what they are saying is certainly clear.

For the story is old, and has often been told.—
Heigh! the sky’s growing gray and the night’s get-
ting cold;
I am off, and they’re parting; one left and one right,
Turning back, looking back, till they’re both out of
sight.
And they think, I suppose, that nobody knows
That he gave her a kiss, and she gave him a rose.

1. Humility
2. With a Spray of Apple Blossoms
3. The Prime of Life
4. Free
5. On the Fly-Leaf of a Book of Old Plays

Abbie Brown The Tryst ("A TRYST had I with the bright sun to keep")

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