Page:Kickerbocker Feb 1833 vol 1 no 2.djvu/34
horse ate his barley in selfish solitude at one end of the dark chamber, and Capitan at the other munched his stingy pittance of refuse greens, envying, perchance, if envy could enter the head of an ass, the more luxurious repast of his favored companion.
WALLER TO HIS MISTRESS.
[BY KENNETH QUIVORLEY.]
["There be those who say, that despite of the many verses which he wrote about this time to the Lady Dorothea Sidney, (his Sacharissa,) his wit was frequently not forthcoming, when most in quest; and that it was well for Mr. Waller that his marriage with Mrs. Banks, the great heiress of the city, who left him a rich widower at twenty-five, prevented the poet from realizing, as he might else have done, how much he who liveth by his wits is dependent not only upon his own humors, but those of others for his bread.—Memoirs of the Court of Charles II.]
To rack for wit my head,
While every chamber of my brain
By thee is tenanted.
Thoughts will not come—words will not flow
Except when thus toward thee they go.
My bane upon this earth—
Fate did my doom that moment write
In which those eyes had birth.
'Tis strange that aught so good, so pure,
Should work the evil I endure.
O'er life one sunny ray;
And to each joy thou lendest wings
To take itself away.
Yet hope and joy—oh what to me
Are they, unless they spring from thee.
To rack for wit my head,
While every chamber of my brain
By thee is tenanted.
Thoughts will not come—words will not flow
Except when thus toward thee they go.