Beneath the gold acacia buds <br />My gentle Nora sits and broods, <br />Far, far away in Boston woods <br />My gentle Nora! <br /> <br />I see the tear-drop in her e'e, <br />Her bosom's heaving tenderly; <br />I know—I know she thinks of me, <br />My Darling Nora! <br /> <br />And where am I? My love, whilst thou <br />Sitt'st sad beneath the acacia bough, <br />Where pearl's on neck, and wreath on brow, <br />I stand, my Nora! <br /> <br />Mid carcanet and coronet, <br />Where joy-lamps shine and flowers are set— <br />Where England's chivalry are met, <br />Behold me, Nora! <br /> <br />In this strange scene of revelry, <br />Amidst this gorgeous chivalry, <br />A form I saw was like to thee, <br />My love—my Nora! <br /> <br />She paused amidst her converse glad; <br />The lady saw that I was sad, <br />She pitied the poor lonely lad,— <br />Dost love her, Nora? <br /> <br />In sooth, she is a lovely dame, <br />A lip of red, and eye of flame, <br />And clustering golden locks, the same <br />As thine, dear Nora? <br /> <br />Her glance is softer than the dawn's, <br />Her foot is lighter than the fawn's, <br />Her breast is whiter than the swan's, <br />Or thine, my Nora! <br /> <br />Oh, gentle breast to pity me! <br />Oh, lovely Ladye Emily! <br />Till death—till death I'll think of thee— <br />Of thee and Nora!<br /><br />William Makepeace Thackeray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-nora/
