The Poetry of Real Life A New Edition, Much Enlarged and Improved. By Henry Ellison |
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ON A LOVELY GIRL OF HUMBLE BIRTH. |
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 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
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ON A LOVELY GIRL OF HUMBLE BIRTH.
Seest thou yon maid, so plain in her attire,
Yet beautiful, in its simplicity,
As the wild lily? in her downcast eye
Sits Modesty enthroned to check desire:
Her lips the very breath of love respire,
Like the first rose of May, scarce touched yet by
The passing wind: while untaught dignity
Turns admiration into something higher!
She is a queen of nature, and around
Her steps a silent reverence is shed,
The Air doth lay its charmed ear to the ground,
To listen to the music of her tread:
Earth holds her breath, as with a pause profound,
And the touched Elements are captive led!
Yet beautiful, in its simplicity,
As the wild lily? in her downcast eye
Sits Modesty enthroned to check desire:
Her lips the very breath of love respire,
Like the first rose of May, scarce touched yet by
The passing wind: while untaught dignity
Turns admiration into something higher!
She is a queen of nature, and around
Her steps a silent reverence is shed,
The Air doth lay its charmed ear to the ground,
To listen to the music of her tread:
Earth holds her breath, as with a pause profound,
And the touched Elements are captive led!
Her smile is as the coming-on of spring:
Her soft, blue eye is like the evening-star,
Which all that's sweetest in Love's calendar
Takes date from! with its first glance every thing
That's holiest and dearest doth it bring
To mind—the thoughts of woman's love, of home,
Domestic peace, and children's smiles, all come
Upon us, with their gentlest visiting.
No dower has she but her loveliness,
Yet power and boundless wealth might sue in vain:
She has already felt their emptiness!
A heart to love is all she seeks to gain:
The highest can't give more, nor yet of less
Has Nature left her meanest to complain!
Her soft, blue eye is like the evening-star,
Which all that's sweetest in Love's calendar
Takes date from! with its first glance every thing
That's holiest and dearest doth it bring
To mind—the thoughts of woman's love, of home,
Domestic peace, and children's smiles, all come
Upon us, with their gentlest visiting.
No dower has she but her loveliness,
Yet power and boundless wealth might sue in vain:
She has already felt their emptiness!
A heart to love is all she seeks to gain:
The highest can't give more, nor yet of less
Has Nature left her meanest to complain!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |