294
A PORTRAIT.
Yet child-simple, undefiled,
Frank, obedient,—waiting still
On the turnings of your will.
Frank, obedient,—waiting still
On the turnings of your will.
Moving light, as all young things,—
As young birds, or early wheat
When the wind blows over it.
As young birds, or early wheat
When the wind blows over it.
Only free from flutterings
Of loud mirth that scorneth measure—
Taking love for her chief pleasure!
Of loud mirth that scorneth measure—
Taking love for her chief pleasure!
Choosing pleasures (for the rest)
Which comes softly—just as she,
When she nestles at your knee!
Which comes softly—just as she,
When she nestles at your knee!
Quiet talk she liketh best,
In a bower of gentle looks,—
Watering flowers, or reading books.
In a bower of gentle looks,—
Watering flowers, or reading books.
And her voice, it murmurs lowly,
As a silver stream may run,
Which yet feels, you feel, the sun.
As a silver stream may run,
Which yet feels, you feel, the sun.
And her smile, it seems half holy,
As if drawn from thoughts more far
Than our common jestings are.
As if drawn from thoughts more far
Than our common jestings are.
And if any poet knew her,
He would sing of her with falls
Used in lovely madrigals.
He would sing of her with falls
Used in lovely madrigals.
And if any painter drew her,
He would paint her unaware
With a halo round her hair.
He would paint her unaware
With a halo round her hair.
And if reader read the poem,
He would whisper—"You have done a
Consecrated little Una!"
He would whisper—"You have done a
Consecrated little Una!"
