Puslapio vaizdai
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AT THE CONVENT GATE

WISTARIA blossoms trail and fall

Above the length of barrier wall And softly, now and then, The shy, staid-breasted doves will flit From roof to gateway-top, and sit And watch the ways of men.

The gate's ajar. If one might peep!
Ah, what a haunt of rest and sleep
The shadowy garden seems!
And note how dimly to and fro

The grave, gray-hooded Sisters go,
Like figures seen in dreams.

Look, there is one that tells her beads
And yonder one apart that reads
A tiny missal's page;

And see, beside the well, the two
That, kneeling, strive to lure anew
The magpie to its cage!

Not beautiful-not all! But each With that mild grace, outlying speech, Which comes of even mood;—

The Veil unseen that women wear
With heart-whole thought, and quiet care,
And hope of higher good.

"A placid life—a peaceful life!
What need to these the name of Wife?
What gentler task (I said)-

What worthier-e'en your arts among-
Than tend the sick, and teach the young,
And give the hungry bread?"

"No worthier task!" re-echoes She, Who (closelier clinging) turns with me To face the road again :

—And yet, in that warm heart of hers, She means the doves', for she prefers To "watch the ways of men."

THE MILKMAID

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

ACROSS the grass I see her pass;

She comes with tripping pace,

A maid I know, and March winds blow Her hair across her face ;

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

The March winds blow. I watch her go: Her eye is brown and clear;

Her cheek is brown, and soft as down, (To those who see it near !)—

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

What has she not that those have got,—

The dames that walk in silk!

If she undo her 'kerchief blue,
Her neck is white as milk.

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!
Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

Let those who will be proud and chill! For me, from June to June,

My Dolly's words are sweet as curds— Her laugh is like a tune ;

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

Break, break to hear, O crocus-spear!
O tall Lent-lilies flame!

There'll be a bride at Easter-tide,

And Dolly is her name.

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

✔ AN OLD FISH POND

GREEN growths of mosses drop and bead

Around the granite brink;

And 'twixt the isles of water-weed

The wood-birds dip and drink.

Slow efts about the edges sleep;
Swift-darting water-flies

Shoot on the surface; down the deep
Fast-following bubbles rise.

Look down. What groves that scarcely sway!
What "wood obscure," profound!

What jungle!—where some beast of prey
Might choose his vantage-ground!

Who knows what lurks beneath the tide ?———

Who knows what tale?

Belike,

Those "antres vast" and shadows hide

Some patriarchal Pike;-

Some tough old tyrant, wrinkle-jawed,
To whom the sky, the earth,

Have but for aim to look on awed

And see him wax in girth ;

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