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THE STAR AND THE FLOWER. |
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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
THE STAR AND THE FLOWER.
Ah! yours, with her light-waving hair,
That droops to her shoulders of snow,
And her cheek, where the palest and purest of roses
Most faintly and tenderly glow!
That droops to her shoulders of snow,
And her cheek, where the palest and purest of roses
Most faintly and tenderly glow!
There is something celestial about her;
I never behold the fair child,
Without thinking she's pluming invisible wings
For a region more holy and mild.
I never behold the fair child,
Without thinking she's pluming invisible wings
For a region more holy and mild.
There is so much of pure seraph-fire
Within the dark depths of her eye,
That I feel a resistless and earnest desire
To hold her for fear she should fly.
Within the dark depths of her eye,
That I feel a resistless and earnest desire
To hold her for fear she should fly.
332
Her smile is as soft as a spirit's,—
As sweet as a bird's is her tone;
She is fair as the silvery star of the morn,
When it gleams through the gray mist alone.
As sweet as a bird's is her tone;
She is fair as the silvery star of the morn,
When it gleams through the gray mist alone.
But mine is a simple wild-flower,
A balmy and beautiful thing,
That glows with new love and delight every hour,
Through the tears and the smiles of sweet spring!
A balmy and beautiful thing,
That glows with new love and delight every hour,
Through the tears and the smiles of sweet spring!
Her eyes have the dark brilliant azure
Of heaven in a clear summer night,
And each impulse of frolicsome, infantine joy
Brings a shy little dimple to light.
Of heaven in a clear summer night,
And each impulse of frolicsome, infantine joy
Brings a shy little dimple to light.
Her young soul looks bright from a brow
Too fair for earth's sorrow and shame;
Her graceful and glowing lip curls, even now,
With a spirit no tyrant can tame.
Too fair for earth's sorrow and shame;
Her graceful and glowing lip curls, even now,
With a spirit no tyrant can tame.
Then let us no longer compare
These tiny, pet-treasures of ours;
For yours shall be loveliest still of the stars.
And mine shall be fairest of flowers.
These tiny, pet-treasures of ours;
For yours shall be loveliest still of the stars.
And mine shall be fairest of flowers.
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |