• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Philip, my king
 Baby Louise
 Baby's kiss
 Letty's globe
 Polly
 To J. H., four years old
 Little Bell
 The queen's jubilee
 I remember, I remember
 A child's thought of God
 Seven times one
 Seven years old
 Eight years old
 Wishing
 The school
 Little brown hands
 Little Ellie
 A portrait
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: Twelve times one : illustrations of child life
Title: Twelve times one
CITATION PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00055801/00001
 Material Information
Title: Twelve times one illustrations of child life
Physical Description: 36 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 27 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Lathbury, Mary A ( Mary Artemisia ), 1841-1913 ( Illustrator )
Worthington Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Worthington Co.
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1888, c1887
Copyright Date: 1887
 Subjects
Subject: Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1888   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1888
Genre: Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
poetry   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: designed in water colors by Mary A. Lathbury ; with descriptive poems ...
General Note: Some illustrations printed in colors and some in sepia; title page printed in red and sepia.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00055801
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225058
notis - ALG5330
oclc - 70222511

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Philip, my king
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
    Baby Louise
        Page 6
    Baby's kiss
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Letty's globe
        Page 9
    Polly
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
    To J. H., four years old
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    Little Bell
        Page 15
    The queen's jubilee
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
    I remember, I remember
        Page 18
    A child's thought of God
        Page 19
        Page 20
    Seven times one
        Page 21
        Page 22
    Seven years old
        Page 23
        Page 24
    Eight years old
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    Wishing
        Page 28
    The school
        Page 29
        Page 30
    Little brown hands
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
    Little Ellie
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
    A portrait
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
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TWELVE TIMES ONE




ILLUSTRATIONS OF CHILD LIFE




DESIGNED IN WATER-COLORS




MARY A. LATHBURY
ARTIST AND AI'THOII OF SEVEN LITTLE MAIDS." RING-AROUND A-ROSY," '" FROM MIEtAI)O\V-1S\VF1.
TO MISTI.F.TOE." ETC. RTC



WITH DESCRIPTIVE POEMS
BY
THE AUTIIOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX," M. E., LORD ROSSLYN, CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER,
AUTHOR OF "LILLIPUT LEVEE," LEIGH HUNT, T. WESTWOOD, M. A. L., THOMAS
HOOD, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, JEAN INGELOW, ALGERNON
CHARLES SWINBURNE, WILLIAM ALLINGHAM, FITZ-HUGH
LUDLOW. AND IM H. KROUT













NEW YORK
WORTHINGTON CO., 747 BROADWAY

1888






















































C"oPrYRIHoww, I887, DY

MARY A. LATHBULRY






































Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York.









ONE TIMES ONE.







TOOK at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my King!
For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood's regal dignities.
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand
With Love's invisible scepter laden;
I am thine Esther, to command
Till thou shalt find thy queen hand-maiden,
Philip, my King:


Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my King:
When those beautiful lips are suing,
And some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest all glorified Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair,
For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,
Philip, my King !


I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,
Philip, my King
Aye, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now,
That may rise like a giant and make men bow,













As to one God-throned amidst his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren, higher and fairer,
Let me behold thee in coming years '
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my King!


A wreath, not of gold, but palm One day,
Philip, my King'
Thou too must tread, as we tread, a way
Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray;
Rebels within thee and foes without
Will snatch at thy crown; but go on, glorious
Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,
As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious.
"Philip, the King!"

--A.\THOR O(1 ''"Jo HALIIFAAX."




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TWO TIMES ONE.



LI -L LIS,


'M in love with you, Baby Louise!
With your silken hair and your soft blue eyes,
And the dreamy wisdom that in them lies,
And the faint, sweet smile you brought from the skies-
God's sunshine, Baby Louise.


When you fold your hands, Baby Louise,
Your hands, like a fairy's, so tiny and fair,
With a pretty, innocent, saint-like air,
Are you trying to think of some angel-taught prayer
You learned above, Baby Louise ?


I'm in love with you, Baby Louise!
Why you never raise your beautiful head
Some day, little one, your cheek will grow red
With a flush of delight to hear the words said,
I love you," Baby Louise.


Do you hear me, Baby Louise ?
I have sung your praises for nearly an hour,
And your lashes keep drooping lower and lower,
And-you've gone to sleep like a weary flower,
Ungrateful Baby Louise!
M. E,

















'TIS bed time; say your hymn and bid "good night,"
God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all'
Your half shut eyes beneath your eyelids fall,
Another minute you will shut them quite.
Yes, I will carry you, put out the light
And tuck you up, although you are so tall!
What will you give me, sleepy one, and call
My wages, if I settle you all right?
I laid the golden curls upon my arm,
I drew her little feet within my hand,
Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,
Her heart next mine beat gently, soft and warm
She nestled to me, and by Love's command
Paid me my precious wages-" Baby's kiss."
1 -LORD ROSSLYN.








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THREE TIMES ONE.






XXHEN Letty had scarce passed her third glad year,
And her young artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a colored sphere
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know,
By tint and outline, all its sea and land.
She patted all the world; old empires peeped
Between her baby fingers; her soft hand
Was welcome at all frontiers. How she leaped
And laughed and prattled in her world-wide bliss;
But when we turned her sweet unlearned eye,
On our own isle, she raised a joyous cry:
"Oh! yes, I see it, Letty's home is there!"
And while she hid all England with a kiss,
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair.
-CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER.






ROWN eyes, straight nose;
Dirt pies, rumpled clothes;
Torn books, spoilt toys;
Arch looks, unlike a boy's;
Little rages, obvious arts;
(Three her age is), cakes, tarts;









THREE TIMES ONE.






XXHEN Letty had scarce passed her third glad year,
And her young artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a colored sphere
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know,
By tint and outline, all its sea and land.
She patted all the world; old empires peeped
Between her baby fingers; her soft hand
Was welcome at all frontiers. How she leaped
And laughed and prattled in her world-wide bliss;
But when we turned her sweet unlearned eye,
On our own isle, she raised a joyous cry:
"Oh! yes, I see it, Letty's home is there!"
And while she hid all England with a kiss,
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair.
-CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER.






ROWN eyes, straight nose;
Dirt pies, rumpled clothes;
Torn books, spoilt toys;
Arch looks, unlike a boy's;
Little rages, obvious arts;
(Three her age is), cakes, tarts;













Falling down off chairs;
Breaking crown down stairs;
Catching flies on the pane;
Deep sighs-cause not plain;
Bribing you with kisses
For a few farthing blisses;
Wide awake; as you hear,
"Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!"
New shoes, new frock;
Vague views of what's o'clock
When it's time to go to bed,
And scorn sublime for what's said.
Thinks it odd; smiles away;
Yet may God hear her pray;
Bed gown white; kiss Dolly,
Good night! that's Polly.
Fast asleep, as you see;
Heaven keep my girl for me!

--" LILIPUT LEVEE."






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FOUR TIMES ONE.



To o. -,.

FOUR YEARS OLD.

AH, little ranting Johnny,
Forever blithe and bonny,
And singing nonny, nonny,
With hat just thrown upon ye;
Or whistling like the thrushes,
With voice in silvery gushes;
Or twisting random posies
With daisies, weeds, and roses;
And strutting on and out so,
Or dancing all about so,
With cock-up nose and lightsome,
And sidelong eyes so brightsome;
And cheeks as ripe as apples,
And head as rough as Dapple's;
And arms as sunny shining
As if their veins had wine in;
And mouth that smiles so truly,
Heaven seems to have made it newly,-
It breaks into such sweetness,
With merry lipped completeness.

One cannot turn a minute
But mischief-there you're in it;
A-getting at my books, John;
With mighty bustling looks, John;
Or poking at the roses,
In midst of which your nose is;












Or climbing on a table,
No matter how unstable;
And turning up your quaint eye,
And half-shut teeth, with Mayn't I ?";
Or else you're off to play, John,
Just as you'd be all day, John,
With hat or not as happens;
And then you dance and clap hands,
Or on the grass go rolling,
Or plucking flowers, or bowling,
And getting me expenses
With losing balls o'er fences;
Or, as the constant trade is,
Are fondled by the ladies,
With "What a young rogue this is!"
Reforming him with kisses,
Till suddenly you cry out,
As if you had an eye out,
So desperately tearful,
The sound is really fearful;
When lo! directly after
It bubbles into laughter!
-l.Em IIHUNT.



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FIVE 7IMES ONL'.





** -X-
SY her snow-white couch at close of day
Knelt sweet Bell with folded hands to pray.
Very calm and clear
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen,
In blue heaven an angel shape serene
Paused awhile to hear.

"What good child is this?" the angel said,
That with happy heart beside her bed
Prays so lovingly ?"
Low and soft, oh! very low and soft
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft,
Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he.

Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair
Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care.
Child, thy bed shall be
Folded safe from harm-Love deep and kind
Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind,
Little Bell, for thee."
-T. WESTWOOD.

-- ,---W 7li,
'Q K- C,-U.: -C .14:11..

F ANNY'S five years old!
Sweet May morning, bring your gifts of gold
Wrought of sunshine; frankincense and myrrh
From the apple-boughs that bend to her
At her eastern window. Robin, sing
What theirhite bloom tells you of the Spring;








FIVE 7IMES ONL'.





** -X-
SY her snow-white couch at close of day
Knelt sweet Bell with folded hands to pray.
Very calm and clear
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen,
In blue heaven an angel shape serene
Paused awhile to hear.

"What good child is this?" the angel said,
That with happy heart beside her bed
Prays so lovingly ?"
Low and soft, oh! very low and soft
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft,
Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he.

Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair
Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care.
Child, thy bed shall be
Folded safe from harm-Love deep and kind
Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind,
Little Bell, for thee."
-T. WESTWOOD.

-- ,---W 7li,
'Q K- C,-U.: -C .14:11..

F ANNY'S five years old!
Sweet May morning, bring your gifts of gold
Wrought of sunshine; frankincense and myrrh
From the apple-boughs that bend to her
At her eastern window. Robin, sing
What theirhite bloom tells you of the Spring;












Sing the song that turned the little heads
Of the violets, sleeping in their beds.
Wake our darling, sleeping in her nest,
(Pink and white, and downy for her rest
As an apple-blossom for a bee,)
Sing, sing, Robin, from the May-white tree!
Sing this secret-sweetest ever told-
Fanny's five years old!

Fanny's five to-day!
Do you ask me "Who is Fanny, pray?"
Fanny is a Queen. Her happy reign
Fills five years as May comes round again.
Such a merry monarch never bore
Royal rule in any realm before.
Cares of state are clouds that never rise
In the clear blue heaven of her eyes;
All her days are fete-days, and her court
Never wearies of the royal sport.
Now we keep her jubilee. Ah, when
Shall we ring the bells for five times ten?
Until then "God save the Queen" we pray!
Fanny's five to-day!
M. A. L.






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SIX TIMES ONE.



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I REMEMBER, I remember
The house where I was born;
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups-
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnam on his birthday,-
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.
-THOMAS HOOD.
















THEY say that God lives very high,
But if you look above the pines
You cannot see our God. And why?

And if you dig down in the mines
You never see Him in the gold,
Though from Him all that's glory shines.

God is so good He wears a fold
Of heaven and earth across His face-
Like secrets kept, for love untold.

But still I feel that His embrace
Slides down by thrills through all things made,
Through sight and sound of every place;

As if my tender mother laid
On my shut lids her kisses' pressure,
Half waking me at night, and said
"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"
-ELIZABEThH BARRETT BROWNING.

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SE VENA TIMES ONE.



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SHERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in the heaven;
I've said my seven times over and over,
Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old I can write a letter,
My birthday lessons are done;
The lambs play always, they know no better,-
They are only seven times one.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
SAnd shining so round and low;
You were bright, ah, bright but your light is failing,-
You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow,
You've powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

O columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell,
O cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell









SE VTELN TIMES ONE.





SHERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in the heaven;
I've said my seven times over and over,
Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old I can write a letter,
My birthday lessons are done;
The lambs play always, they know no better,-
They are only seven times one.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low;
You were bright, ah, bright but your light is failing,-
You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.

O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow,
You've powdered your legs with gold!
O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold!

O columbine, open your folded wrapper,
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell,
O cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper
That hangs in your clear green bell














And show me your nest with the young ones in it,-
I will not steal it away;
I am old, you may trust me, linnet, linnet,
I am seven times one to-day!
-JEAN INGELOW.


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SEVEN white roses on one tree,
Seven white loaves of blameless leaven,
Seven white sails on one soft sea,
Seven white swans on one lake's lee,
Seven white flowerlike stars in heaven,
All are types unmeet to be
For a birthday's crown of seven.
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I can give you but a word
Warm with love therein for leaven,
But a song that falls unheard
Yet on ears of sense unstirred
Yet by song so far from heaven,
Whence you came the brightest bird,
Seven years since, of seven times seven.
--ALERNON CIARLES SWINEURNE.


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EIGHT TIMES ONE.


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SU N, whom the faltering snow-cloud fears
Rise, let the time of year be May.
Speak now the word that April hears,
Let March have all his royal way;
Bid all Spring raise in Winter's ears
All tunes her children hear or play,
Because the crown of eight glad years
On one bright head is set to-day.


What matters cloud or sun to-day
To him who wears the wreath of years
So many, and all like flowers at play
With wind and sunshine, while his ears
Hear only song on every way?
More sweet than Spring triumphant hears
Ring through the revel-rout of May
Are these, the notes that Winter fears.



There beats not in the heart of May,
When Summer hopes and Springtide fears
There falls not from the height of day
When sunlight speaks and silence hears,
So sweet a psalm as children play
And sing, each hour of all their years,
Each moment of their lovely way,
And know not how it thrills our ears.













Ah, child, what are we, that our ears
Should hear you singing on your way,-
Should have this happiness? The years
Whose hurrying wings about us play
Are not like yours, whose flower-time fears
Nought worse than sunlit showers in May;
Being sinless as the Spring, that hears
Her own heart praise her every day.


Yet we too triumph in the day
That bare, to entrance our eyes and ears,
To lighten daylight, and to play
Such notes as darkness knows and fears,
The child whose face illumes our way,
Whose voice lifts up the heart that hears,
Whose hand is as the hand of May
To bring us flowers from eight full years.
-ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.









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NINE TIMES ONE.






RING-TING! I wish I were a Primrose,
A bright yellow Primrose blowing in the Spring!
The stooping boughs above me,
The wandering bee to love me,
The fern and moss to creep across
And the elm tree for our king!

Nay, stay! I wish I were an Elm tree,
A great lofty Elm tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,
The sun and moonshine glance in,
The birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing.

O, no! I wish I were a Robin,
A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go;
Through forest, field, or garden,
And ask no leave or pardon,
Till Winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing!

Well-tell! Where should I fly to,
Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ?
Before a day was over,
Home comes the rover,-
For mother's kiss-sweeter this
Than any other thing.
-WILLIAM ALLINGIHAM.















SITTLE girl, where do you go to school,
And when do you go, little girl?
Over the grass from dawn till dark
Your feet are in a whirl;
You and the cat jump here and there,
You and the robins sing;
But what do you know in the spelling-book?
Have you ever learned anything?"

My school-roof is the dappled sky;
And the bells that ring for me there
Are all the voices of morning
Afloat in the dewy air.
Kind nature is the Madame,
And the book whereout I spell
Is dog's-eared by the brooks and glens
Where I know the lesson well.
-FITz-Huc(;H LUDLOW.









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TEN TIiMES ONE.



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T HEY drive home the cows from the pasture
Up through the long shady lane
Where the quail whistles loud to the wheat-fields
That are yellow with ripening grain.
They find, in the thick waving grasses,
Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows;
They gather the earliest snow drops,
And the first crimson buds of the rose.

They toss the new hay in the meadow;
They gather the elder-bloom white
They find where the dusky grapes purple
In the soft-tinted October light.
They know where the apples hang ripest,
And are sweeter than Italy's wines,
They know where the fruit hangs the thickest
On the long, thorny blackberry vines.

They gather the delicate sea-weeds,
And build tiny castles of sand;
They pick up the beautiful sea-shells,
Fairy barks that have drifted to land.
They wave from the tall, rocking tree-tops
Where the oriole's hammock-nest swings;
And at night-time are folded in slumber
By a song that a fond mother sings.













Those who toil bravely are strongest;
The humble and poor become great;
And so from these brown-handed children
Shall grow mighty rulers of State.
The pen of the author and statesman,-
The noble and wise of the land,-
The sword and the chisel and palette
Shall be held in the little brown hand.










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-M. 1. KRouT.










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ELEVEN TIMES ONE.






SITTLE Ellie sits alone
'Mid the beeches of the meadow,
By a stream side on the grass;
And the trees are showering down
Doubles of their leaves in shadow,
On her shining hair and face.

She has thrown her bonnet by,
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow.
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands, all sleek and d!.;1I.
While she rocket to and fro.

Little Ellie sits alone,
And the smile she softly uses
Fills the silence like a speech
While she thinks what shall be done,-
And the sweetest pleasure chooses
For the future within reach.

Little Ellie in her smile
Chooseth "I will have a lover
Riding on a steed of steeds!
He shall love me without guile,
And to him will I discover
That swan's nest among the reeds."

*x- *












Little Ellie with her smile
Not yet ended, rose up gayly,
Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe,
And went homeward round a mile,
Just to see, as she did daily,
What more eggs were with the two.

Pushing through the elm-tree copse
Winding by the stream, light-hearted,
Where the osier pathway leads-
Past the boughs she stoops-and stops!
Lo! the wild swan had deserted,
And a rat had gnawed the reeds!

Ellie went home sad and slow:
If she found the lover ever,
With his red-roan steed of steeds
Sooth, I know not! but I know
She could never show him-never,
That swan's nest among the reeds.
-ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.







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TWELVE TIMES ONE.






I WILL paint her as I see her.
(Twelve) times have the lilies blown
Since she looked upon the sun.

And her face is lily-clear,
Lily-shaped and dropped in duty
To the love of its own beauty.

Oval cheeks encolored faintly,
Which a trail of golden hair
Keeps from fading off to air;

And a forehead fair and saintly,
Which two blue eyes undershine
Like meek prayers before a shrine.

Face and figure of a child,-
Though too calm, you think, and tender,
For the childhood you would lend her.

Yet child-simple, undefiled,
Frank, obedient-waiting still
On the turnings of your will.

Moving light, as all young things;
As young birds or early wheat
When the wind blows over it.














And a stranger, when he sees her
In the street even, smileth still,
Just as you would at a lily.

And all voices that address her
Soften, sleeken every word
As if speaking to a bird.

And all fancies yearn to cover
The hard earth whereon she passes
With the thymy scented grasses.

And all hearts do pray "God love her!"-
Ay, and always, in good sooth,
We may all be sure He dolh.
-ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.










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