Classic Poem

We were riding home from the Carroll's ball —
Nelly Sansargent and I, you know;
The white flakes fluttered about our lamps,
And our noisy wheels were hushed in the snow.

Her white arms nestled along her lap,
Her hands half-folding, with languid grace,
Her fading violets; fair to see
Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face.

I watched her, saying never a word,
For I would not waken those dreaming eyes
The breath of the violets filled the air,
And my thoughts were many, and far from wise.

At last I said to her, bending near,
Ah, Nelly Sansargent, sweet 't would be,
To ride on dreaming, all our lives,
Alone with the violets — you and me.

Her fair face reddened, her sweet eyes fell,
And, low as the murmur of Summer rills,
Her answer came. It was — — Yes, perhaps —
But who would settle our carriage bills? —

The tremulous violets breathed their last,
Our wheels rolled hard on the stones just then,
Where the snow had drifted; the subject dropped.
It has never been taken up again.