Shapes and Shadows — Constance

_Constance.

_ Beyond the orchard, in the lane, The crested red-bird sings again-- O bird, whose song says, _Have no care.

_ Should I not care when CONSTANCE there,-- My CONSTANCE, with the bashful gaze, Pink-gowned like some sweet hollyhock,-- If I declare my love, just says Some careless thing as if in mock?

Like--_Past the orchard, in the lane, How sweet the red-bird sings again_!

There, while the red-bird sings his best, His listening mate sits on the nest-- O bird, whose patience says, _All's well_, How can it be with me, now tell?

When CONSTANCE, with averted eyes,-- Soft-bonneted as some sweet-pea,-- If I speak marriage, just replies With some such quaint irrelevancy, As, _While the red-bird sings his best, His loving mate sits on the nest_.

What shall I say?

what can I do?

Would such replies mean aught to you, O birds, whose gladness says, _Be glad_?

Have I not reason to be sad When CONSTANCE, with demurest glance, Her face a-poppy with distress, If I reproach her, pouts, perchance, And answers so in waywardness?

-- _What shall I say?

what can I do?

My meaning should be plain to you!

_