 | [Our blue-eyed boy, in] Fading flowers |  |
26
OUR BLUE-EYED BOY.
ALICE CAREY.
One
time in the May that is vanished,
With a heart full of quiet joy
I cradled to sleep in my bosom,
Our beautiful blue-eyed boy.
With a heart full of quiet joy
I cradled to sleep in my bosom,
Our beautiful blue-eyed boy.
No shadow of sorrow had darkened
His young life so lovingly fair,
For the suns of but two little summers
Had sprinkled their light in his hair.
His young life so lovingly fair,
For the suns of but two little summers
Had sprinkled their light in his hair.
The twilight was pressing her forehead
Down deep in the level main,
And over the hills lay shining
The golden hem of her train;
Down deep in the level main,
And over the hills lay shining
The golden hem of her train;
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While under the heavy tresses,
That swept o'er the dying day,
The star of the eve, like a lover,
Was hiding his blushes away.
That swept o'er the dying day,
The star of the eve, like a lover,
Was hiding his blushes away.
In the hollows that dimple the hill-sides,
Our feet till the sunset had been,
Where pinks with their spikes of red blossoms
Hedged beds of blue violets in.
Our feet till the sunset had been,
Where pinks with their spikes of red blossoms
Hedged beds of blue violets in.
And to the warm lip of the sunbeam
The cheek of the blush-rose inclined,
While the meek pansy gave its white bosom
To the murmurous love of the wind.
The cheek of the blush-rose inclined,
While the meek pansy gave its white bosom
To the murmurous love of the wind.
Where the air was one warble of music,
Of the bird and the bright-belted bee,
And the waves going by like swift runners,
A-singing the songs of the sea.
Of the bird and the bright-belted bee,
And the waves going by like swift runners,
A-singing the songs of the sea.
But now, in the dim fall of silence,
I took up the boy on my knees,
And sang him to sleep with a story
Of the lambs 'neath the sheltering trees.
I took up the boy on my knees,
And sang him to sleep with a story
Of the lambs 'neath the sheltering trees.
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Oh! when the green kirtle of May-time
Again o'er the hill-tops is blown
I shall walk the wild paths of the forests,
And climb the steep headlands, alone;—
Again o'er the hill-tops is blown
I shall walk the wild paths of the forests,
And climb the steep headlands, alone;—
Pausing not where the slopes of the meadows
Are yellow with cowslip beds,
Nor where, by the wall of the garden,
The hollyhocks lift their bright heads.
Are yellow with cowslip beds,
Nor where, by the wall of the garden,
The hollyhocks lift their bright heads.
For when the full moon of the harvest
Stood over the summer's ripe joy,
I held the last time to my bosom
Our beautiful blue-eyed boy;
Stood over the summer's ripe joy,
I held the last time to my bosom
Our beautiful blue-eyed boy;
And parting away from his forehead
The rings of a wannish gold,
I sang him to sleep with a story
Of the lambs of the upper fold.
The rings of a wannish gold,
I sang him to sleep with a story
Of the lambs of the upper fold.
When, laying his white hands together,
And putting his pale lips from ours,
We trusted his feet to the pathway
That winds through Eternity's flowers.
And putting his pale lips from ours,
We trusted his feet to the pathway
That winds through Eternity's flowers.
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