 | Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) |  |
25
IN WASHINGTON.
The burning sunbeams on the pavement beat,
There is no pity in the brazen skies;
The air along the street quivers with scorching heat,
And its hot dazzle blinds the aching eyes.
There is no pity in the brazen skies;
The air along the street quivers with scorching heat,
And its hot dazzle blinds the aching eyes.
In these long days, with dust and turmoil rife,
The sultry distance of the Avenue
Seems like some dreary life, full of unrest and strife,
Where there comes never either bloom or dew.
The sultry distance of the Avenue
Seems like some dreary life, full of unrest and strife,
Where there comes never either bloom or dew.
She sits there in the sunshine all the day,
Almost beneath the passers' hurrying feet,—
A woman, old and gray, beside the crowded way,
Blinded and choked with dust, and faint with heat.
Almost beneath the passers' hurrying feet,—
A woman, old and gray, beside the crowded way,
Blinded and choked with dust, and faint with heat.
A few poor matches in her basket lie,
Half hidden by her tattered garment's fold;
She waits there patiently, but no one stops to buy,
And her small merchandise remains unsold.
Half hidden by her tattered garment's fold;
26
And her small merchandise remains unsold.
Her eyes are fixed upon the stinted grass,
Browned by the sunshine, in the dusty square,
While youth and beauty pass, but give no thought, alas!
To her who once was also young and fair.
Browned by the sunshine, in the dusty square,
While youth and beauty pass, but give no thought, alas!
To her who once was also young and fair.
In her now faded hair were golden gleams,
And youth shone on her forehead like a crown;—
Ah, how remote it seems, that time of joyous dreams,
Far from the hot streets of this tedious town!
And youth shone on her forehead like a crown;—
Ah, how remote it seems, that time of joyous dreams,
Far from the hot streets of this tedious town!
Sometimes, I fancy, in her dull despair,
Across her thought this pleasant memory slips;
Once, as I passed her there, a sweet, old-fashioned air
Quavered in broken treble from her lips.
Across her thought this pleasant memory slips;
Once, as I passed her there, a sweet, old-fashioned air
Quavered in broken treble from her lips.
No matter whose rich skirts against her blow,
She never speaks, or turns her head, or stirs;
Oh, flutterers to and fro, what can your gay hearts know
Of such an empty, hopeless life as hers?
She never speaks, or turns her head, or stirs;
Oh, flutterers to and fro, what can your gay hearts know
Of such an empty, hopeless life as hers?
27
She sees you, blessed with all that fortune brings,
Shake from your dainty robes the perfumed airs;
She sees white hands, and rings, and gems, and precious things,
And smiling eyes. I wonder if she cares?
Shake from your dainty robes the perfumed airs;
She sees white hands, and rings, and gems, and precious things,
And smiling eyes. I wonder if she cares?
Silent she sits, her chin upon her knees,
While proud and happy crowds go sweeping by;
I wonder, when she sees such differences as these,
If her sad soul rebels and queries, “Why?”
While proud and happy crowds go sweeping by;
I wonder, when she sees such differences as these,
If her sad soul rebels and queries, “Why?”
What thoughts may pain her heart, so lone and drear,
Who knows?—But thought I never heard her speak,
Once, as I came more near, I thought I saw a tear
Lost in the mazy wrinkles of her cheek.
Who knows?—But thought I never heard her speak,
Once, as I came more near, I thought I saw a tear
Lost in the mazy wrinkles of her cheek.
But if there be a law of recompense,
Which rights all wrongs, and gives us back our own,
In some sweet realm far hence, where toil and turbulence
Dwell not, and age and sorrow are unknown,
Which rights all wrongs, and gives us back our own,
In some sweet realm far hence, where toil and turbulence
Dwell not, and age and sorrow are unknown,
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There she, with all her earthly troubles told,
And freed from all this weight of want and care,
No longer wan and old, and poor and unconsoled,
Shall be a radiant angel, young and fair.
And freed from all this weight of want and care,
No longer wan and old, and poor and unconsoled,
Shall be a radiant angel, young and fair.
And if, enfranchised from this dreary maze,
I, too, shall come into that rest serene,
And meet her, as she strays along the pleasant ways
Amid the waters still and pastures green,
I, too, shall come into that rest serene,
And meet her, as she strays along the pleasant ways
Amid the waters still and pastures green,
Dowered with the deathless youth of Paradise,
I wonder if my memory will be true,—
If, looking in her eyes, my own will recognize
The Old Match-vender of the Avenue?
I wonder if my memory will be true,—
If, looking in her eyes, my own will recognize
The Old Match-vender of the Avenue?
| Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) | |