Thomas Ashe
1836-1889.
No and Yes
I
f I could choose my paradise,
And please myself with choice of bliss,
Then I would have your soft blue eyes
And rosy little mouth to kiss!
Your lips, as smooth and tender, child,
As rose-leaves in a coppice wild.
If fate bade choose some sweet unrest,
To weave my troubled life a snare,
Then I would say “her maiden breast
And golden ripple of her hair;”
And weep amid those tresses, child,
Contented to be thus beguiled.