 | English Roses |  |
A BROWN STUDY.
It was just a delicious arrangement in brown,
Every light, every shade I loved best;
The bright hair in its breadth looked a glorious crown,
And of course she was daintily drest;
Her complexion
Was all the exacting could ask,
And reflexion
Not veiled by a simpering mask
Shadowed out in the pout and the pose of resolve;
And one pendulous hand,
Which seemed formed to command,
Beat in time and in chime with the thought to evolve.
Every light, every shade I loved best;
The bright hair in its breadth looked a glorious crown,
And of course she was daintily drest;
Her complexion
Was all the exacting could ask,
And reflexion
Not veiled by a simpering mask
Shadowed out in the pout and the pose of resolve;
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Which seemed formed to command,
Beat in time and in chime with the thought to evolve.
And so brown was her study it clothed her like eve
With an atmosphere subtle and sad,
And the twilight though past seemed reluctant to leave
That dear face with its beauty to add;
Was she frowning,
At fancies that troubled her brain?
Was it Browning,
Who brought her enigmas of pain?
For a poem was there and was perfect and deep
As the seer ever told,
And like oracles old
Her lips moved with the murmurs of infinite sleep.
With an atmosphere subtle and sad,
And the twilight though past seemed reluctant to leave
That dear face with its beauty to add;
Was she frowning,
At fancies that troubled her brain?
Was it Browning,
Who brought her enigmas of pain?
For a poem was there and was perfect and deep
As the seer ever told,
And like oracles old
Her lips moved with the murmurs of infinite sleep.
Sweetly brown were her eyes, softly brown the pure skin,
Golden brown the locks nothing could bind,
And the curve of the shapely imperious chin
On the brownest of fichus reclined;
Yes, and russet
The mantle that lay like a cloud,
And each gusset
If seen would with tan have been proud;
And the hue of the true nut was tenderly laid
On the delicate cheek
With no pigment to seek,
And did shine in the line of her sinuous braid.
Golden brown the locks nothing could bind,
And the curve of the shapely imperious chin
On the brownest of fichus reclined;
Yes, and russet
The mantle that lay like a cloud,
And each gusset
If seen would with tan have been proud;
And the hue of the true nut was tenderly laid
On the delicate cheek
With no pigment to seek,
And did shine in the line of her sinuous braid.
O the blush of the apple in autumn was breathed
In the curious folds of her gown,
And brown shades were her dimples and suns that had wreathed
Her young presence had painted it brown;
As if nature
Had wrought her of freshness and fire,
Till her stature
Attained to completed desire;
In that crucible fashioned of night and the day,
As they glimmered and gleamed,
In her wonder she dreamed
Of the splendour of earth and her virginal way.
In the curious folds of her gown,
And brown shades were her dimples and suns that had wreathed
Her young presence had painted it brown;
As if nature
Had wrought her of freshness and fire,
Till her stature
Attained to completed desire;
In that crucible fashioned of night and the day,
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In her wonder she dreamed
Of the splendour of earth and her virginal way.
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