 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
341
LITTLE BESS.
[_]
[The subject of the following lines was born one bright day in the month of March. “The color of our lives,” says Hazlitt, “is woven into the fatal thread at our births: our original sins and our redeeming graces are infused into us; nor is the bond that confirms our destiny, ever cancelled.”]
Fitful gusts, o'ershadowed arch,
And chill rains belong to March:
But relaxed his visage sour—
Shot mild radiance from his eye,
And his lip forgot to sigh
When unclosed our youngest flower.
And chill rains belong to March:
But relaxed his visage sour—
Shot mild radiance from his eye,
And his lip forgot to sigh
When unclosed our youngest flower.
No wood-nymph, with kirtle green,
Tripping through the woods was seen;
But the landscape's look forlorn
To a golden smile gave place,
Lighting up earth's darkened face,
When my little Bess was born.
Tripping through the woods was seen;
But the landscape's look forlorn
To a golden smile gave place,
Lighting up earth's darkened face,
When my little Bess was born.
Eight brief moons have waxed and waned
Since our flock a fourth one gained
In this fairy of a girl,
With the lily's snow endowed,
Showing, when she laughs aloud,
Through rose-lips a gleam of pearl.
Since our flock a fourth one gained
In this fairy of a girl,
With the lily's snow endowed,
Showing, when she laughs aloud,
Through rose-lips a gleam of pearl.
Like a sunbeam breaking through
Winter's pall of sable hue—
Or a moon-flash on the brine
When the blast no longer raves
Racing o'er its waste of waves,
Camest thou, sweet daughter mine!
Winter's pall of sable hue—
Or a moon-flash on the brine
When the blast no longer raves
Racing o'er its waste of waves,
Camest thou, sweet daughter mine!
342
Not a leaf the forest cheered,
Scarce one grass-blade had appeared,
But so lovely was the day
That the squirrel of the ground
Left his den with frolic bound,
Thinking of the reign of May.
Scarce one grass-blade had appeared,
But so lovely was the day
That the squirrel of the ground
Left his den with frolic bound,
Thinking of the reign of May.
Day of birth, so bright and warm,
In a month of cloud and storm,
Augurs that our little Bess
Was in mercy sent to light
Dreary sorrow's coming night
With a ray of happiness.
In a month of cloud and storm,
Augurs that our little Bess
Was in mercy sent to light
Dreary sorrow's coming night
With a ray of happiness.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |