NOT AT HOME
Love cometh through the front door in gentle-
manly guise,
And asked for Mylady; but heareth in
surprise
Her calm voice answer coldly from some-
where up above.—
"I'm not at home, I tell thee: I'm not at
home to Love."
Love goeth away sighing and drooping in
despair,
But soon himself bethinketh that all for
Love is fair;
If he can but win entrance he hopeth to
win more,
And every lady's dwelling hath eke a
lower door.
And Love is skilled in guises, and doeth on the gear
Of blue-coat City Watchman, the burly
man of beer;

And cometh to the rear door and tirleth at
the pin,—
"Faith, be there here a lassie will let a
brave boy in?"
Oh, maids be there below stairs and mis-
tresses above,—
Kind maids with smiling faces who scorn
no guise of Love;
And tho the lady falter the lass may
beckon sweet;
And warm the fires greeting, and warm
the lips that greet.
So Love disguised who entered to win My
Lady's heart
Doth linger by the single forgetting all his I
part;
For comely is the lassie nor of his glance
afraid;
And Love forgetteth mistress, and Love he
wooeth maid.

—Abbie Farwell Brown.