R. S. V. P.
With thoughtful brow she ponders deep,1
The grave sweet lips her secret keep ;2
She does not smile, and does not sigh,3
While thus revolving her reply—4
Yet letters four, R. S. V. P.5
Ye stir within her virgin heart6
Some quick’ning hope, to spring and start7
Through the recesses of her mind,8
And leave a sunny track behind—9
Ah, letters four, R. S. V. P !10
She does not hear the songs of June,11
Nor note the brown bees’ drowsy tune,12
She does not heed the wandering breeze13
Outside amongst the lilac trees,14
Ah, letters four, R. S. V. P.15
The drooping lashes veil her eye—16
What question hangs on the reply17
That dyes with rose her cheek so fair ?18
Will he be there—will he be there—19
Ye letters four, R. S. V. P ?20
She cons you o’er with anxious care—21
Will he be there—will he be there ?22
If by some magic ye could tell23
How easy the reply—ah, well,24
All potent power, R. S. V. P.25
The die is cast, and she will go—26
Methinks she will not answer no—27
When with shy eyes again she stands,28
Her white hands clasped by other hands,29
Confronted by—R. S. V. P !30