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LORA OF THE VALES |
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|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
313
LORA OF THE VALES
Lora is her name that slips
Soft as love between the lips:
You must know she is so wise
All she does is lift her eyes,—
Larkspur-blue as April skies,—
At her name—and that replies—
She 's so wise, is Lora.
Soft as love between the lips:
You must know she is so wise
All she does is lift her eyes,—
Larkspur-blue as April skies,—
At her name—and that replies—
She 's so wise, is Lora.
Lora is her name whose sound
Hedges all my heart around
With the gold of happiness:
When she speaks, you will confess,
Music's self her words express,
Every vowel a caress—
She 's so kind, is Lora.
Hedges all my heart around
With the gold of happiness:
When she speaks, you will confess,
Music's self her words express,
Every vowel a caress—
She 's so kind, is Lora.
Lora is her name that brings
Thoughts to me of morning things:
Songs of birds; of bees that creep
In the rumpled bluebells deep;
Butterflies, that, half asleep,
On some rose their vigil keep—
She 's so young, is Lora.
Thoughts to me of morning things:
Songs of birds; of bees that creep
In the rumpled bluebells deep;
Butterflies, that, half asleep,
On some rose their vigil keep—
She 's so young, is Lora.
314
Lora, lean to mine your face;
So; and round you let me lace
One firm arm, and gently woo
Your small mouth, as fresh as dew,
Till it says your heart is true,
True to me as mine to you,
Sunny-hearted Lora!
So; and round you let me lace
One firm arm, and gently woo
Your small mouth, as fresh as dew,
Till it says your heart is true,
True to me as mine to you,
Sunny-hearted Lora!
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |