Classic Poem

My little love, do you remember,
— Ere we were grown so sadly wise,
Those evenings in the bleak December,
Curtained warm from the snowy weather,
When you and I played chess together,
— Checkmated by each other's eyes?

— Ah! still I see your soft white hand
Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight;
— Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand;
The double Castles guard the wings;
The Bishop, bent on distant things,
Moves, sliding, through the fight.

— Our fingers touch; our glances meet,
And falter; falls your golden hair
— Against my cheek; your bosom sweet
Is heaving. Down the field, your Queen
Rides slow, her soldiery all between,
— And checks me unaware.

— Ah me! the little battle's done:
Dispersed is all its chivalry.
Full many a move, since then, have we
'Mid Life's perplexing chequers made,
And many a game with Fortune played; —
— What is it we have won?
— This, this at least, — if this alone:

That never, never, never more,
As in those old still nights of yore
— (Ere we were grown so sadly wise),
— Can you and I shut out the skies,
Shut out the world and wintry weather,
— And, eyes exchanging warmth with eyes,
Play chess, as then we played together!