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99
ALISON
What's in a Name?
Sure much indeed!
Take you this name of Alison:
The little flower's, almost a weed,
That springs, and thrives, and spreads upon
The garden's border at my need.
Sure much indeed!
Take you this name of Alison:
The little flower's, almost a weed,
That springs, and thrives, and spreads upon
The garden's border at my need.
Dear Alison!
I know not why
The florist's craft hath called you so:
Only as I go strolling by
Thou lead'st my thoughts to long-ago—
Pleasantly, yet with half a sigh.
I know not why
The florist's craft hath called you so:
Only as I go strolling by
Thou lead'st my thoughts to long-ago—
Pleasantly, yet with half a sigh.
I feel arise
At sight of thee
A subtle memory that flower,
Far lovelier though it well may be,
Stirs not for all its rarer dower—
Mysterious spell thou hast for me.
At sight of thee
A subtle memory that flower,
Far lovelier though it well may be,
Stirs not for all its rarer dower—
Mysterious spell thou hast for me.
A vision springs
Of other times,
Of Chaucer's or of Shakespeare's day;
Or later Herrick's, Wither's, rhymes
At Christmas-tide, or blossomed May,
Or Harvest-Home to ringing chimes.
Of other times,
Of Chaucer's or of Shakespeare's day;
Or later Herrick's, Wither's, rhymes
At Christmas-tide, or blossomed May,
Or Harvest-Home to ringing chimes.
A vision springs
Of an English girl—
Good stalwart word—A wench! and lo!
Her cheeks are rose, her teeth are pearl,
Straight, cleanly, brisk I see her go
In merry mood her lips a-curl.
Of an English girl—
Good stalwart word—A wench! and lo!
Her cheeks are rose, her teeth are pearl,
Straight, cleanly, brisk I see her go
In merry mood her lips a-curl.
100
Perchance nor she
Can write nor spell;
On trinket from the fair at most
For ornament her longings dwell,
Rich gift from Colin that she'll boast
Next junketing comes round.—Ah, well!
Can write nor spell;
On trinket from the fair at most
For ornament her longings dwell,
Rich gift from Colin that she'll boast
Next junketing comes round.—Ah, well!
Poor Alison!
For nowadays
Amidst our girls sad show, I fear,
Youl'd make. They'ld scoff at your clumsy ways
Of talk and garb—or, perchance, my Dear,
Your blush as you stared at their displays.
For nowadays
Amidst our girls sad show, I fear,
Youl'd make. They'ld scoff at your clumsy ways
Of talk and garb—or, perchance, my Dear,
Your blush as you stared at their displays.
Sweet Alison,
Goodbye, goodbye!
The world's a shifting stage—all's said.
You but a vision, here stand I
To do with the living not the dead.
We part, yet heigh-ho! with a sigh, a sigh.
Goodbye, goodbye!
The world's a shifting stage—all's said.
You but a vision, here stand I
To do with the living not the dead.
We part, yet heigh-ho! with a sigh, a sigh.
August 4th, 1920.
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