The Home Book of Verse
Chapter 71 : Little Sister Rose-Marie, Will thy voice as bird-note clear Lift and ripple over Heaven

Little Sister Rose-Marie, Will thy voice as bird-note clear Lift and ripple over Heaven As its mortal sound is given, Swift bird-voice, so young and clear?

How G.o.d will be glad of thee, Little Sister Rose-Marie!

Adelaide c.r.a.psey [1878-1914]

MAIDENHOOD

MAIDENHOOD

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the dusk in evening skies!

Thou whose locks outs.h.i.+ne the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with, a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse!

Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian?

Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

Hearest thou voices on the sh.o.r.e, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar?

Oh, thou child of many prayers!

Life hath quicksands,--Life hath snares!

Care and age come unawares!

Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June.

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered;-- Age, that bough with snows enc.u.mbered.

Gather, then, each flower that grows, When the young heart overflows, To embalm that tent of snows.

Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of bra.s.s cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand.

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth.

Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;

And that smile, like suns.h.i.+ne, dart Into many a sunless heart For a smile of G.o.d thou art.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting,

That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY

Merry Margaret As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower: With solace and gladness, Much mirth and no madness, All good and no badness; So joyously, So maidenly, So womanly Her demeaning In every thing, Far, far pa.s.sing That I can indite, Or suffice to write Of merry Margaret As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower, As patient and still And as full of good will As fair Isaphill, Coliander, Sweet pomander, Good Ca.s.sander; Steadfast of thought, Well made, well wrought, Far may be sought, Eye that ye can find So courteous, so kind, As merry Margaret, This midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower.

John Skelton [1460?-1529]

ON HER COMING TO LONDON

What's she, so late from Penshurst come, More gorgeous than the mid-day sun, That all the world amazes?

Sure 'tis some angel from above, Or 'tis the Cyprian Queen of Love Attended by the Graces.

Or is't not Juno, Heaven's great dame, Or Pallas armed, as on she came To a.s.sist the Greeks in fight, Or Cynthia, that huntress bold, Or from old t.i.thon's bed so cold, Aurora chasing night?

No, none of those, yet one that shall Compare, perhaps exceed them all, For beauty, wit, and birth; As good as great, as chaste as fair, A brighter nymph none breathes the air, Or treads upon the earth.