 | The Poems of Sir William Watson |  |
HER THIRD BIRTHDAY
My tiny lady, can it
Be true that you and I,
On something called a planet,
Are somewhere in the sky?
Be true that you and I,
On something called a planet,
Are somewhere in the sky?
Yes—and at such a tearing
And madcap speed we've spun,
That you, with dreadful daring,
Have thrice been round the sun.
And madcap speed we've spun,
That you, with dreadful daring,
Have thrice been round the sun.
Nay, it yet more amazes,
That my far-venturing girl
Can be as fresh as daisies
After so wild a whirl!
That my far-venturing girl
Can be as fresh as daisies
After so wild a whirl!
176
And now 'neath western billow
The sun is put to bed,
And you, too, on your pillow
Must lay a golden head.
The sun is put to bed,
And you, too, on your pillow
Must lay a golden head.
Ah, tears—they come so quickly,
For grief so quickly gone!
Yet joys have rained as thickly,
For you to dream upon.
For grief so quickly gone!
Yet joys have rained as thickly,
For you to dream upon.
1916
| The Poems of Sir William Watson | |