W.]
A little maid, of summers four--
Did you compute her years,--
And yet how infinitely more
To me her age appears:
I mark the sweet child's serious air,
At her unplayful play,--
The tiny doll she mothers there
And lulls to sleep away,
Grows--'neath the grave similitude--
An infant real, to me,
And _she_ a saint of motherhood
In hale maturity.
[Illustration]
So, pausing in my lonely round,
And all unseen of her,
I stand uncovered--her profound
And abject worshipper.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "LEND ME THE BREATH OF A FRESHENING GALE."]
* * * * *
IV
WIND OF THE SEA
[A.T.]
Wind of the Sea, come fill my sail--
Lend me the breath of a freshening gale
And bear my port-worn ship away!
For O the greed of the tedious town--
The shutters up and the shutters down!
Wind of the Sea, sweep over the bay
And bear me away!--away!
Whither you bear me, Wind of the Sea,
Matters never the least to me:
Give me your fogs, with the sails adrip,
Or the weltering path thro' the starless night--
On, somewhere, is a new daylight
And the cheery glint of another ship
As its colors dip and dip!
[Illustration]
Wind of the Sea, sweep over the bay
And bear me away!--away!
* * * * *
V
SUBTLETY
[R.
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