 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
224
THE LITTLE SLUMBERER.
The child was weary, and had flung herselfIn beautiful abandonment, to rest,
Low on the gorgeous carpeting, whose hues
Contrasted richly with her snow-white robe:
One dimpled arm lay curving o'er the head,
Half buried in its glossy, golden curls,
Moist and disordered by her graceful play;
The other pressed beneath her cheek, did make
With small round fingers dimples in the rose,—
Where lashes soft as floss were darkly drooping,—
Her red lips parted slightly, while the breath,
Pure as a blossom's sigh, came sweet and still;
Loosely the robe from one white shoulder fell;
And so she lay, and slumbered 'mid the hues,
The orient richness of the downy carpet,—
Like a young flower, drooping its dewy head,
And shutting its soft petals on the breast
Of summer-mantled earth.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |