 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
61
Lorna
(Aged two and a half years)
A GRANDFATHER'S RHAPSODY
Her winning ways are more to me
Than all the glories of the sea,
Than rock or river, mountain, sky,
Or flowers, however bright their dye,
Or songbirds' sweetest minstrelsy.
Than all the glories of the sea,
Than rock or river, mountain, sky,
Or flowers, however bright their dye,
Or songbirds' sweetest minstrelsy.
My Lorna, sitting on my knee
In dainty dimpled coquetry—
What charm of earth can then outvie
Her winning ways?
In dainty dimpled coquetry—
What charm of earth can then outvie
Her winning ways?
What painter, whosoe'er he be,
Could catch that laughing look of glee?
What poet tell the reason why
She gives that little tender sigh?
I love—she loves—but not for thee
Her winning ways!
Could catch that laughing look of glee?
What poet tell the reason why
She gives that little tender sigh?
I love—she loves—but not for thee
Her winning ways!
| Lyra Pastoralis | |