 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
232
MARGARET.
Margaret sat in her chamber,
Her gilded and garnished chamber,
And she made to her heart low hushes,
As we sing a babe to rest,
And she sighed betwixt her blushes,
Oh, where is my own true lover,
My beautiful, beautiful lover,
My beautiful soldier and lover,
My bravest and my best!
Her gilded and garnished chamber,
And she made to her heart low hushes,
As we sing a babe to rest,
And she sighed betwixt her blushes,
Oh, where is my own true lover,
My beautiful, beautiful lover,
My beautiful soldier and lover,
My bravest and my best!
He is coming, she sang, he is coming!
My soldier and lover is coming!
My dreams they were wild with warning;
Poor heart, beat not so low.
See, see! 't is the broad, bright morning!
And where are the damp, dim meadows,
The blighted and bloomless meadows,
Where a shadow, leading shadows,
All night I saw him go!
My soldier and lover is coming!
My dreams they were wild with warning;
Poor heart, beat not so low.
See, see! 't is the broad, bright morning!
And where are the damp, dim meadows,
The blighted and bloomless meadows,
Where a shadow, leading shadows,
All night I saw him go!
So Margaret sat in her chamber,
Alone in her lofty chamber,
With its crimson carpets glowing,
And curtains blue as the sky;
And she kept her tears from flowing,
And her fears from wild awaking,
And her heart from outright breaking
With the little song she was making,
“O my lover, he could not die!”
Alone in her lofty chamber,
With its crimson carpets glowing,
And curtains blue as the sky;
And she kept her tears from flowing,
And her fears from wild awaking,
And her heart from outright breaking
With the little song she was making,
“O my lover, he could not die!”
233
Again and again she found him,
With upturned faces around him,
Yet sang she over and over
The lullaby song, so sweet:
“He is coming, my soldier and lover!
O roses, burst into blooming,
And bees, be goldenly humming,
To grace and gladden his coming,
Whenever the hour shall beat!”
With upturned faces around him,
Yet sang she over and over
The lullaby song, so sweet:
“He is coming, my soldier and lover!
O roses, burst into blooming,
And bees, be goldenly humming,
To grace and gladden his coming,
Whenever the hour shall beat!”
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |