The Portland daily press., 1866-01-17
Poetry.
LANGLEY LANE.
A Love Poem.
BY ROBERT BUCHANAN.


In all the land, range up. range down, ,,,oo+
Is there ever place SO pleasant anu S"ees'
As Langley lane in London town. and strsetp
Just out Of the hustle OF square anu Saoos'
Little white cottages all IN row,
Gardens where bachelors los a Sait %a grow @
And up above the still blue sky,
Where the woolly-whte clouds go sailing by
1 seem to be able to see 1t all.
For now in summer, / take my chair,
And all out side in the sun and heat
The distant murmur OF street and square,
And the swallows and sparrows chirping near;
And Fanny who lives just over the way
Comes running many time each day
With her little hands touch SO warm and kind,
And smile and talk, the sun on my cheek,
And the little live hand seems to stir and speak
For Fanny is dumb and am blind.
Fanny is sweet thirteen and she hH
Has fins black ringlets, and dark clear eyes;
AndI am older by summers three
Why should we held each other SO dear?
Because sh cannot utter word,
Nor hear the music of bee or bird.
The water carts splash or the milkman's CALI
Bee ause have never seen the sky,
Nor the little singers that hum and fly
Yetknow she is gazing upon them ALL
For the sun is shining, the swallows fy,' A
The bees and the blue flies murmur low, rig
And hear the water-cart go by r.
With its cool splash-splash down the dusty row.
And the little one close at my side perceives
Mine eyes appraised to the cottage caves,
Where birds are chirping IN sunnnS' sAiiAe,
And hear, though cannot look, and she, III
Thouqb She cannot hear, can the singer see
And the little soft fingers futter In minei
Hath not the dear little hand tongue, IS.
When it strs on my palm for the love of me9
Do not know she is pretty and young?
Hath not " soul an eye to see?- I'd
,Tis pleasure to make ones bosom STIR
To wonder how things appear to her,
That only hear as they pass around; ~.
She is happy to keep Gods sight, Lii
And am happy to keep Gods sound. "a
Why, know her face, though am blind
I made it Of music long ago; -
Strange large ewes. and dark hair Irvine I
Round the pensive light OF a brow of snow;
And when sit by my little one, 1lie
And hold her hand and talk in the sun,
And hear the music that haunts the place,
know she Is raising her eyes to me,
And guessing how gentle my voice must be,
And Seeing the music upon my face.
Though, If ever the Lord should grant me prayer,
Il know the fancy is only vain,)
should pray, just once, when the weather is fAr,
To see little Fanny and Langley lane; H
Though Fanny, perhaps, would pray to hear
The voice of the friend that she holds SO dear, =
The song of the birds, the hum of the street
Il is better to be as we have been a-Ts
Each keeping up something, unheard, unseen,
To make Gods heaven more strange and sweet
Ali life is pleasant in Langley lane!
There is always something sweet to heart
Chirping of birds or patter Of rainl 81 lN
And Fanny, my little one, always nearl 9r
And though am WEAKLY aud can't live long,
And Fanny, my darling, is far from strong, q
And though we can never married be-
What then ?-since we hold one another 80 dear,
For the sake of the pleasure one cannot hear,
And the pleasure that only one can see?