Lilian

My little maiden Lilian,
     Her blue eyes filled with tender light, 
Just now, adown the garden path,
     Went flashing like a sprite;

And something in the words she said, 
     And something in her pleasant smile,
Flooded my soul with happy thoughts 
     That linger yet awhile.

A winsome lass is Lilian,
     And beautiful of form and face,
And all the motions of her limbs 
     Obey the law of grace.

Her eyes, that change from blue to gray, 
     As tides of feeling sink or swell,
Are full of gentle loves and joys, 
     Such as with childhood dwell;

And yet, at times, within their depths, 
     A shadow, half-defined, appears,
As if the prescient soul had caught 
     A glimpse of darker years.

The sunlight, like a prisoner, lies
     Tangled amid her golden hair, 
And, rippling from sweet lips, her voice
     Makes musical the air.

She sings beside the singing streams 
     With sweeter cadences than they;
And gives the blackbird, for his song, 
     A wilder roundelay.

She knows the violets' secret haunts,
     Where, from cleft rocks, their starry eyes
Look up, as if to catch from hers 
     The blue of lovelier skies —

And where, from man's intrusive gaze,
     Hide the pale wood anemones, 
And nameless blooms, as fair as they,
     Beneath the ancient trees.

"Though God's dear love," she says, is shown 
     In shining sun and falling showers, 
I think He puts, for little folks, 
     His sweetest thoughts in flowers.”

And she is right! her teachers they, 
     That tell her evermore of Him;
And temple, priest, and choir, for her 
     Are in the wood-paths dim.

And so, from Nature's soul to hers 
     Flow inspirations undefiled,
And in a world of happy thoughts 
     She lives, a happy child.