 | English Roses |  |
MAUDIE.
I sometimes sit and wonder why
You are so saucy and yet shy,
With sunshine of an April sky,
Maudie;
And whence you get the golden art
Which must in magic have a part,
Of making yours my captive heart,
Maudie.
You are so saucy and yet shy,
With sunshine of an April sky,
Maudie;
51
Which must in magic have a part,
Of making yours my captive heart,
Maudie.
Ah, you would never tell me how
The haloed hair on that white brow,
That then was light, is shadow now,
Maudie;
Perchance you do not know the way
Yourself of such mysterious play,
With which you mingle night and day,
Maudie.
The haloed hair on that white brow,
That then was light, is shadow now,
Maudie;
Perchance you do not know the way
Yourself of such mysterious play,
With which you mingle night and day,
Maudie.
I often think our lips will meet,
A moment's marriage soft and sweet,
Just to be mocked by flitting feet,
Maudie;
And if a kiss rewards my cry,
It seems to touch and tremble by—
A rose leaf or a butterfly
Maudie.
A moment's marriage soft and sweet,
Just to be mocked by flitting feet,
Maudie;
And if a kiss rewards my cry,
It seems to touch and tremble by—
A rose leaf or a butterfly
Maudie.
I cannot fix you in one mood,
Nor learn the secret fire and food
Of your enchanted maidenhood,
Maudie;
You come and go, a glancing flame,
But never twice will be the same
In nature if you are in name,
Maudie.
Nor learn the secret fire and food
Of your enchanted maidenhood,
Maudie;
You come and go, a glancing flame,
But never twice will be the same
In nature if you are in name,
Maudie.
You do not with my children weep
Or want repose, and safely keep
Your counsels in pretence of sleep,
Maudie;
Yet somewhere I, who know you hest,
Feel there is music in your breast
Which love will waken from its rest,
Maudie.
Or want repose, and safely keep
Your counsels in pretence of sleep,
Maudie;
Yet somewhere I, who know you hest,
Feel there is music in your breast
Which love will waken from its rest,
Maudie.
52
And when the destined day is born,
The leaves that hid the coming morn
Will hang a blossom on each thorn,
Maudie;
While he, who has the proper clue
And key to open what is due,
Will come and seek nor vainly sue,
Maudie.
The leaves that hid the coming morn
Will hang a blossom on each thorn,
Maudie;
While he, who has the proper clue
And key to open what is due,
Will come and seek nor vainly sue,
Maudie.
| English Roses | |