TO PHILLIS, IN ENGLAND.
DARLING Phillis, four years old, Whom for my delight I will picture as I knew— Head alight with sunny gold, Cheeks of roses red and white, Eyes so large and blue !
I will fill my picture in With the tales I hear of you, Telling of the hearts you win, What you wear and do : Windfall-hunts 'neath apple-boughs, Offers bold of grass to cows!
Yet I know not—can I, dear, See you as you are P English things grow dim and far To the exile lingering here.
Sweet—how sweet !—but faint you stand Shadow-child in shadow-land !
Vainly I for my delight Fain would fashion you aright, With a sad and wistful sense Of the spirit's impotence. You as now you are, I trow, I shall never never, know.
Wiser Phillis, in your glee No such thoughts you heed, Thinking now and then of me Far away across the foam, Happy in your childish creed, Soon "big ship " will bring me home.
Calcutta, November, 1891. W. TREGO
WEBB.
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