 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
161
VIRGINIA.
I saw her first—a petted child,
Her eyes were blue as heaven;
Her cheek was dimpled when she smiled
Her lips a rose-bud riven.
Her eyes were blue as heaven;
Her cheek was dimpled when she smiled
Her lips a rose-bud riven.
Her form, the prettiest in the world,
Her step—a fairy's flight,
Her hair like shaded sunshine, curled
In clusters wild and bright.
Her step—a fairy's flight,
Her hair like shaded sunshine, curled
In clusters wild and bright.
162
“A child,” I said,—so artless, wild,
And full of mirth her mien;
You'd deem her but a lovely child
Though she was just fifteen.
And full of mirth her mien;
You'd deem her but a lovely child
Though she was just fifteen.
I met her on her way to school,
The snow fell swift and still;
The morn was clear and bright, but cool,
And I had felt the chill.
The snow fell swift and still;
The morn was clear and bright, but cool,
And I had felt the chill.
But idly at that childlike form
Fierce Winter flung his dart;
Her frolic feet had kept her warm,
And Love was at her heart.
Fierce Winter flung his dart;
Her frolic feet had kept her warm,
And Love was at her heart.
Her small straw bonnet backward flung,
Her cloak, blown here and there,
While drops of snow like jewels hung
In her disordered hair.—
Her cloak, blown here and there,
While drops of snow like jewels hung
In her disordered hair.—
That dimpled cheek was flushed and bright,
A smile was on her lip;
Her eyes were full of wild delight,
And gay her graceful trip.
A smile was on her lip;
Her eyes were full of wild delight,
And gay her graceful trip.
163
She seemed a sunbeam in my way,
The vision warmed my heart,
And Memory kept the blessed ray
Long after we did part.
The vision warmed my heart,
And Memory kept the blessed ray
Long after we did part.
Years went—again her path I've crossed,
Ah! from that form and face;
What depth of bloom and light are lost,
What wealth of artless grace.
Ah! from that form and face;
What depth of bloom and light are lost,
What wealth of artless grace.
The world has won her—she has learned
Its measured smile and tread;
The foot, that once the snow-flake spurned,
By courtly rule is led.
Its measured smile and tread;
The foot, that once the snow-flake spurned,
By courtly rule is led.
And Fashion's hand has smoothed the fold
Of that luxuriant hair,
Where once the tress of glossy gold
Waved wildly on the air.
Of that luxuriant hair,
Where once the tress of glossy gold
Waved wildly on the air.
Yet oft, unbidden, to her eyes
Quick tears of Feeling start,
And while those gems of truth arise,
She's still a child at heart.
Quick tears of Feeling start,
And while those gems of truth arise,
She's still a child at heart.
164
Alas! in all her Beauty's power,
Proud, stately, and serene;
She knows not one bright thrilling hour
Like those of gay fifteen!
Proud, stately, and serene;
She knows not one bright thrilling hour
Like those of gay fifteen!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |