Page:Poems Holley.djvu/130

And not a picture on her walls,
 Hath beauty unto me,
Like that which from my window frame
 I daily lean to see.

She has known such pomp, she careth not
 For any humble sight;
Flowers bending o'er the brook's green edge,
 To her give no delight;
She tends her costly-eastern bird
 With gold upon its wing;
But her wild roses bloom for me,
 For me her wild birds sing.

She tires of home, and fain would see
 The brightest climes of earth,
And so she sails for summer lands
 With friends to share her mirth;
She waves her jewelled hand to me
 The opal spray-clouds fly;
She leaves me with the fading shore-
 Do I envy her? not I.

She will see the sailors' hardened palms
 Curbing the toiling sails,
She will faint beneath the tropic calms
 And face the angry gales.