Every lover the years disclose Is of a beautiful name made free. One befriends, and all others are foes : Anna's the name of names for me. Sentiment hallows the vowels of Delia; Sweet simplicity breathes from Rose ! Courtly memories glitter in Celia ; Rosalind savors of quips and hose, Araminta of wits and beaux, Prue of puddings, and Coralie All of sawdust and spangled shows; Anna's the name of names for me. Fie upon Caroline, Jane, Amelia— These I reckon the essence of prose !— Mystical Magdalen, cold Cornelia, Adelaide's attitudes, Mopsa's mowes, Maud's magnificence, Totty's toes, Poll and Bet with their twang of the sea, Nell's impertinence, Pamela's woes! Anna's the name of names for me. ENVOY. Ruth like a gillyflower smells and blows, Sylvia prattles of Arcady, Portia 's only a Roman nose, Anna 's the name of names for me! "Of Ladies' Names." WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY. ANNE. HER eyes be like the violets, Ablow in Sudbury lane; When she doth smile, her face is sweet With grief I think of my gray hairs, In comes she through the dark old door And she doth bring the tender wind Our parson stands up straight and tall, And of the place where sinners go, Most stiff and still the good folk sit A flickering light, the sun creeps in, Oh, violets in Sudbury lane, This maid who stirs ye with her feet I wonder how my forty years LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE. ANNETTA. ONE day, all satiate with sport Of piercing hearts unto their marrow, Cupid, asleep in Sylvan Court, Awoke and missed both bow and arrow. Then in commingled grief and rage He roamed as far as e'er love's star gets, And for a while earth owned an age Of unpierced hearts, love's virgin targets. But o'er his path Annetta trips, A vision of lost treasures flashesHis ruby bow,-her arching lips, His quivered darts, her trembling lashes. CHARLES H. A. ESLING. ANNIE. ANNIE is fairer than her kith And kinder than her kin ; Her eyes are like the open heaven Her heart is like an ordered house Oh, happy he who wins the love Her sisters stand as hyacinths They are for every butterfly That comes and sips and goes; Oh, cruel kindness in soft eyes Till the tears make me blind! To make her laugh that sweetest laugh Which leaves all else behind? Her hair is like the golden corn I will not tell her that I love, I will not tell her that I love, For many a weary day. CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. |