106
poems.
She stood and gazed on the water blue,
That child so loving, so fond, and true,
Then fearlessly stepped, with dimpled feet,
Into the streamlet cold and deep.
She crossed the brook to the distant shore,
Where many a one hath crossed before;
A child she was on the other side,
But now a maiden, in beauty and pride.
Her curls, so full of childish grace,
Are smoothly brushed from her fair young face,
And instead of the gay and laughing voice,
Which always made our hearts rejoice,
Is one so sober and full of pride;
For he whom she loves stands by her side.
She has left those fairy-tripping feet
Yonder,—where the brook and river meet;
She goes from the lighted hall a bride,
With one she deems both true and tried;
And her eyes, so brown, so meek and mild,
Are beaming even as when a child.
But still in sorrow's calm, sad hour,
As she weeps alone in her vine-clad bower,
She longs again, with fairy feet,
To dance where brook and river meet.
That child so loving, so fond, and true,
Then fearlessly stepped, with dimpled feet,
Into the streamlet cold and deep.
She crossed the brook to the distant shore,
Where many a one hath crossed before;
A child she was on the other side,
But now a maiden, in beauty and pride.
Her curls, so full of childish grace,
Are smoothly brushed from her fair young face,
And instead of the gay and laughing voice,
Which always made our hearts rejoice,
Is one so sober and full of pride;
For he whom she loves stands by her side.
She has left those fairy-tripping feet
Yonder,—where the brook and river meet;
She goes from the lighted hall a bride,
With one she deems both true and tried;
And her eyes, so brown, so meek and mild,
Are beaming even as when a child.
But still in sorrow's calm, sad hour,
As she weeps alone in her vine-clad bower,
She longs again, with fairy feet,
To dance where brook and river meet.
