Momentous Words

Edward_Rowland_Sill
Edward Rowland Sill

What spiteful chance steals unawares
Wherever lovers come,
And trips the nimblest brain and scares
The bravest feelings dumb?

We had one minute at the gate,
Before the others came;
To-morrow it would be too late,
And whose would be the blame!

I gazed at her, she glanced at me;
Alas! the time sped by:
“How warm it is to-day!” said she;
“It looks like rain,” said I.

Edward Rowland Sill, 1841–1887

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s