6
POEMS.
And well indeed might they be proud
Of the part they bore that night,
As they moved amidst the festal crowd,
Upon that lady bright.
As they grace the fair and polished brow
Of the glittering revel's queen,
They can have naught to sigh for now,
Beyond that brilliant scene.
And yet! they were not happy quite,
A feeling new and strange
Passed over them with a chilling blight:
And again they wished for change.
Again they wished to be away,
Where they alone were fair;
They had looked on flowers of hues more gay,
Since they had entered there.
And they thought that in their home serene
None had seemed fair save them,
And they were to that forest scene
As a rare and foreign gem.
But here swept by them every hour
Strange flowers of beauty bright;
They were more prized in their greenwood bower
Than in those halls of light.
"Twas true that they were still most fair,
They had not lost their bloom,
But they drooped beneath the perfumed air
Which filled that gorgeous room.
Of the part they bore that night,
As they moved amidst the festal crowd,
Upon that lady bright.
As they grace the fair and polished brow
Of the glittering revel's queen,
They can have naught to sigh for now,
Beyond that brilliant scene.
And yet! they were not happy quite,
A feeling new and strange
Passed over them with a chilling blight:
And again they wished for change.
Again they wished to be away,
Where they alone were fair;
They had looked on flowers of hues more gay,
Since they had entered there.
And they thought that in their home serene
None had seemed fair save them,
And they were to that forest scene
As a rare and foreign gem.
But here swept by them every hour
Strange flowers of beauty bright;
They were more prized in their greenwood bower
Than in those halls of light.
"Twas true that they were still most fair,
They had not lost their bloom,
But they drooped beneath the perfumed air
Which filled that gorgeous room.
