Ballades and Rondeaus

To a Blank Sheet of Paper

Paper, inviolate, white,
    Shall it be joy or pain?
    Shall I of fate complain,
Or shall I laugh to-night?

Shall it be hopes that are bright?
    Shall it be hopes that are vain?
Paper, inviolate, white,
    Shall it be joy or pain?

A dear little hand so light,
    A moment in mine hath lain;
    Kind was its pressure again—
Ah, but it was so slight!

Paper, inviolate, white,
Shall it be joy or pain?

Cosmo Monkhouse.