Classic Poem

You might see the river shore
From the shady cottage door
Where she sat, a maiden mild —
Not a woman, not a child;
But the grace which heaven confers
On the two, I trow was hers:
Dimpled cheek, and laughing eyes,
Blue as bluest summer skies,
And the snowy fall and rise
Of a bosom, stirred, I weet,
By some thought as dewy sweet
As the red ripe strawberries,
Which the morning mower sees;
Locks so long and brown (half down
From the modest wild-flower crown
That she made an hour ago,
Saying, " I will wear it, though
None will praise it, that I know! " )
Twined she round her fingers white —
Sitting careless in the light,
Sweetly mixed of day and night —
Twined she, peeping sly the while
Down the valley, like an aisle,
Sloping to the river-side.
Blue eyes! wherefore ope so wide?
They, are fishers on the shore
That you look on — nothing more.

Pettishly she pouts — ah me!
Saucy Nellie, you will see
Ere an hour has fled away,
Little recks it what you say —
That those eyes with anger frowning
Darkly, will be near to drowning,
And the lips repeating so
Oft and proudly " Let him go! "
Will be sighing.
Ah, I know!
I have watched as you have done
This fair twilight, pretty one,
Watched in trembling hope, and know
Spite of all your frowning so,
That the wave of sorrow, flowing
In your heart, will soon be showing
In the cheek, now brightly blushing, —
Hark! 't is but the wild birds hushing
To their nests — and not a lover
Brushing through the valley clover!

Purple as the morning-glories
Round her head the shadows fall;
Is she thinking of sad stories,
That, when wild winds shriek and call,
And the snow comes, good old folks,
Sitting by the fire together,
Tell, until the midnight cocks
Shrilly crow from hill to hill —
Stories, not befitting ill
Wintry nights and windy weather?

The small foot that late was tapping
On the floor, has ceased its rapping,
And the blue eyes opened wide,
Half in anger, half in pride,
Now are closed as in despair,
And the flowers that she would wear
Whether they were praised or no,
On the ground are lying low.

Foolish Nellie, see the moon,
Round and red, and think that June
Will be here another day,
And the apple-boughs will grow
Brighter than a month ago:
Beauty dies-not with the May!
And beneath the hedgerow leaves,
All the softly-falling eves,
When the yellow bees are humming
And the blue and black birds coming
In at will, we two shall walk,
Making out of songs or talk
Quiet pastime.
Nellie said,
" Those fine eves I shall be dead,
For I cannot live and see
Him I love so, false to me,
And till now I never staid
Watching vainly in the shade. "

" In good sooth, you are betrayed!
For I heard you, careless, saying,
" 'T is not I for love that pine,"
And I've been a long hour staying
In the shadow of the vine! "

So a laughing voice, but tender,
Said to Nellie: quick the splendor
Of the full moon seemed to fade,
For the smiling and the blushing
Filling all the evening shade.
It was not the wild birds hushing
To their nests an hour ago,
But in verity a lover
Brushing through the valley-clover.

Would all watches maidens keep,
When they sit alone and weep
For their heart-aches, ended so!