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The Picture Gallery.
Silent or speaking, evermore I love that changeful face—So spirit-like she treads the earth, So lightly in her grace,
As if she walked another life— Though she may tread earth's way,There is a lightness in her tread, As if she'd float away.
And when she sings—her voice so sweet, It thrills me while it cheers;I often weep—she does not know She sings me into tears.
THE NAME.
Aye! well art thou so named, my English flower, Since still each flower must have its name,Thus is thy name then, thy best and sweetest dower— None meeter couldst thou claimThan "Alice."
The rose by any other name as sweet Would smell, "the Swan of Avon" sung;And yet the very name is e'er replete With fragrance tho' unsung,Sweet "Alice."
