A Trifle

Henry Timrod 1828 (Charleston) – 1867 (Columbia)



I know not why, but ev'n to me
My songs seem sweet when read to thee.

Perhaps in this the pleasure lies -
I read my thoughts within thine eyes.

And so dare fancy that my art
May sink as deeply as thy heart.

Perhaps I love to make my words
Sing round thee like so many birds,

Or, maybe, they are only sweet
As they seem offerings at thy feet.

Or haply, Lily, when I speak,
I think, perchance, they touch thy cheek,

Or with a yet more precious bliss,
Die on thy red lips in a kiss.

Each reason here - I cannot tell -
Or all perhaps may solve the spell.

But if she watch when I am by,
Lily may deeper see than I.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

39 sec read
43

Quick analysis:

Scheme AA BB CC DD EE FF GG HH II
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 600
Words 130
Stanzas 9
Stanza Lengths 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2

Henry Timrod

Henry Timrod was an American poet, often called the poet laureate of the Confederacy. more…

All Henry Timrod poems | Henry Timrod Books

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