 | Louise de la Valliaere and other poems |  |
81
OLIVIA AND DICK PRIMROSE.
A rustic maiden, delicately fair,
With sweet mute lips and eyes serene and mild,
That look straight sunward, while with gentle air
Clings to her side a little loving child,
Linking a chain of daisies; this is all,
And yet methinks old memories bestir
At sight of this maid-lily, fair and tall,
Sweet as the rose the dainty hands of her
Enclose in careless chains and happy thrall.
With sweet mute lips and eyes serene and mild,
That look straight sunward, while with gentle air
Clings to her side a little loving child,
Linking a chain of daisies; this is all,
And yet methinks old memories bestir
At sight of this maid-lily, fair and tall,
Sweet as the rose the dainty hands of her
Enclose in careless chains and happy thrall.
I see the gentle vicar, old and kind,
The good house-mother, quick to blame and praise,
All the quaint story rises to my mind,
The meadow bank that bloomed with flowering days:
And in the hay-field, now I seem to see
Olivia stand with happy downcast eyes,
Singing with simple girlish minstrelsy;
While o'er the ethereal blue of summer skies
Long feathery lines of cloud float restfully.
The good house-mother, quick to blame and praise,
All the quaint story rises to my mind,
The meadow bank that bloomed with flowering days:
82
Olivia stand with happy downcast eyes,
Singing with simple girlish minstrelsy;
While o'er the ethereal blue of summer skies
Long feathery lines of cloud float restfully.
He sang of happy homes, who home had none,
Of sweet hearth joys whose way was lone and bleak,
And oft his voice rang out with truest tone
When wintry winds froze tears upon his cheek.
A deathless fount of joy was ever springing
From out his bright child-nature pure and sweet,
Soft comforting and surest healing bringing;
And when earth's sharpest thorns had pierced his feet
His way was gladdened with his inward singing.
Of sweet hearth joys whose way was lone and bleak,
And oft his voice rang out with truest tone
When wintry winds froze tears upon his cheek.
A deathless fount of joy was ever springing
From out his bright child-nature pure and sweet,
Soft comforting and surest healing bringing;
And when earth's sharpest thorns had pierced his feet
His way was gladdened with his inward singing.
| Louise de la Valliaere and other poems | |