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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
TO L. R. S.
Lisa Romana! no mean city gaveThee to the world, sired by as true a knight
As e'er the flying paynim's helmet clave,
Leading a hope forlorn in glorious fight!
And thou, dear, stately maid, no knight of old,
That eastward battles down the pleasant page
Of chivalry, ever in heart did hold
A queenlier image—face more brightly grave.
Be kind to her, ye seas, ye winds that blow,
On the long journey homeward, and one day,
Ocean and wild sea-winds! swift make return
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Back, back to us once more; before this gray
Whitens, and hearts that love her are laid low.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |