 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
88
MAGIC MIRRORS.
A fair young child with heart of glee
Stands prattling by its mother's knee,
And as her eyes reflect the smile
Brightening her darling's face the while,
“Oh, mother, dear,” the cherub cries,
“I see a baby in your eyes!”
Stands prattling by its mother's knee,
And as her eyes reflect the smile
Brightening her darling's face the while,
“Oh, mother, dear,” the cherub cries,
“I see a baby in your eyes!”
The mother stoops and playfully
Raising the infant to her knee,
Gazes within the azure deeps
Where joy's bright meaning never sleeps;—
A pale sad woman she descries,
Out-gazing from her baby's eyes!
Raising the infant to her knee,
Gazes within the azure deeps
Where joy's bright meaning never sleeps;—
A pale sad woman she descries,
Out-gazing from her baby's eyes!
“Ah, eyes tell truth,” she sighs at last,—
“Yours speak your future,—mine my past;
For in your radiant orbs I see
A prophecy of days to be,
And in my own dimmed eyes, appears
A glimpse of childhood's vanished years!”
“Yours speak your future,—mine my past;
For in your radiant orbs I see
A prophecy of days to be,
And in my own dimmed eyes, appears
A glimpse of childhood's vanished years!”
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |