by J. Ashby Sterry.
Originally published in Belgravia (John Maxwell) vol.3 #10 (Aug 1867).
A September Regret
So the bright summer season is over!
I wished it would come o'er again,
As that night when you started for Dover,
I bade you good-bye at the train.
I am doomed by the lateness of session
In London all autumn to stay,
Through its heat, and ennui, and oppression,
Whilst you, Love, are off and away.
Now the fêtes are gone by, and the dances,
The talk at the five-o'clock tea,
With the smiles, the light laughter, and glances,
So pleasant to you, Love, and me.
No more "kettledrums" at the Knoxes',
Or croquet and gay fancy-fairs;
Whispered words at the back of the boxes,
Or snug little chats on the stairs.
You are off amidst vineyards and mountains,
Where myrtle is mingled with maize;
Where the olive o'ershadows bright fountains
You'll dream through the fine autumn days;
Where the roseate sunsets are flushing
Their gleam o'er the amethyst lake,
Whilst the blue ripples seem to be hushing
The low, misty shore where they break.
You remember the day at Chiavenna
We mounted the rugged inclines?
And the sail that we took to Varenna?
The luncheon we had 'neath the vines?
Vino d' Asti spumante, agoni—
With bright eyes to flash o'er the cheer,
At the sweet Albergo Marcionni,
The sunniest day of last year.
Then that night at Baveno, whilst smoking,
When Someone had lit my cigar,
To be found there, 'twas rather provoking,
By little Miss Floy and mamma:
How she bore you away in a hurry,
Despite all excuse I could make!
And said, quoting from odious Murray,
"Night air was so bad by the lake."
When the fragrance of flowers is lightly
Awaft on the soft evening breeze,
Whilst the pale moon is glinting so brightly
With silver the tremulous trees,—
Will you muse, in that clear autumn weather,
With feelings of pleasure and pain?
Will you stroll where we wandered together,
To wish but last year back again?
Perhaps memory's clearest reflection
May mirror your future; but yet
You will dwell on with tender affection
That night which you'll never forget;
When I would have said something, but wavered—
How quickly such chances slip by!—
Lizzie darling, had I been so favoured,
Pray, what would have been your reply?