***

O,how this spring  of love ressembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!
But passion most dissembles,yet betrays
Even by it's darkness;as the blacket sky
Foretells the heaviest tempest...
Yet Julia's very coldness still was king,
And tremulously gentle her small hand
Withdrew itself from his,but self behind
A little pressure,thrilling,and so bland
And slight,so very slight that to the mind
'T was but a doubt...
He turn his lips to hers,and with his hand
Call'd back the tangles of her wandering hair.
Then there were sighs,the deeper for suppression ,
And stolen glances,sweeter for the theft,
And burning blushes,though for no transgression...