Tuesday, June 29, 2010

A Tatting Temptress

An Afterthought

'Twas in the garden chatting
Amid the mignonette,-
She with her snowy tatting,
I with my cigarette.
I still can see her fingers
Flit softly in and out;
With rapture memory lingers
To view her lips a-pout.

A happy sunbeam glancing
Upon a wayward curl
Set every pulse to dancing,
And turned my brain a-whirl;
And when she looked up shyly,
I could not help, you see,
But stoop and kiss her slyly
Behind the apple-tree.

Strange that some mote forever
Should mar the rays of bliss!
Though conscious I had never
Yet won so sweet a kiss,
Alas!  the act of plunder
So gracefully she bore,
I could not choose but wonder,
Had she been kissed before?


Gina said...


tattrldy said...

Thanks for the sharing the poem. I'd never heard it before.

Martha said...

Very sweet -- sort of Victorian tatting erotica. Is that a photo of the piece that went into Baby Doll's dot dress?

sewmuchfun4 said...

Hi Martha!
I laughed when I read your comment because if you click on the author's name it takes you to a site with a brief bio on him. By his picture, he looks to have been a minister!

And you have SUCH a good memory. That is the coaster I used for Baby Doll's dress! I thought the color and the tree fit the poem pretty well.

:) Ann