POETRY.
TO A MOTHER ON SEEING HER SMILE REPEATED IN HER DAUGHTER'S EYES A THOUSAND songs I might have made Of You, and only You ; A thousand thousand tongues of fire, That trembled down a golden wire To lamp the night with stars, to braid The morning bough with dew. Within the greenwood girl and boy Had loitered to their lure, And men in cities closed their books To dream of Spring and running brooks And all that ever was of joy For manhood to abjure.
And rd have made them strong, so strong,
Outlasting towers and towns, The naked shepherd 'neath his thorn Had piped them to a world re-born, And danced Delight the dales along And up the daisied downs.
A thousand songs I might have made : But you required them not; Content to reign your little while And, abdicating with a smile, To pass into a private shade,
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