The Triangular Society :: :: University of Virginia Library

Is she not exceeding fair,
Gracie with the golden hair
Floating round her, like the haze
Of the Indian summer days?
Just a baby undefiled,
Dancing, dimpled, darling child!
Is she not exceeding fair,
Gracie with the golden hair?

Two short years hath Gracie stayed
In this world of shine and shade,
And her life has been as blest
As a young bird's in its nest,
Shielded safe from want and fear,
By the hearts which hold her dear,—
Wholly happy, unaware,—
Gracie with the golden hair.

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Never to herself she saith,
“Wherefore life?” or “Wherefore death?”
Gracie leaves these queries dread
To some graver, older head;
Longing for no morrow's rays,
Mourning for no yesterdays,
She hath neither doubt nor care,
Gracie with the golden hair.

Yet sometimes a thoughtful shade
Falls athwart the little maid,
And a tender sadness lies,
Deep within her gentle eyes;
But she smiles again ere long,
Carolling her merriest song,
Like a sparrow in the air,
Gracie with the golden hair.

Gracie hath a cherub face,
Full of sweet, unworldly grace;
Gracie's eyes are tenderest blue,
Limpid as a drop of dew;
And her cheek, so pure it shows,
Seemeth like a fresh white rose.
Is she not exceeding fair,
Gracie with the golden hair?

And if Gracie, though she seems
Like the shapes in holy dreams,
Be not quite an angel yet,
Wherefore should we feel regret?
For our hearts would all be riven,
Should she fly away to heaven;—
Ah, our souls could never spare
Gracie with the golden hair!