The memories of little maids Are rosy round this gray old earth. Heroes its glories, these the shades Of tender evenings, sunrise mirth. The blue wild lilacs on the dunes Nod breeze-blown toward a lustred sea. The seashore's faint-hummed morning tunes Sing little maidens, young and free. The sun-blaze on the shifting blue Shimmers a phantom down the sands Where Phoenix' daughter strays anew Trailing arbutus in her hands; Yet not as 'neath those cliffs whereunder Her children playmates shrank and cried When, bellowing o'er the breakers' thunder, The white bull threshed the rushing tide. Dawn on such heights as Tabor's mountain Shows a child Deborah glad and free; Rainbows on every sobbing fountain, A tearless bright Callirrhoe. I seek not one as Night's sad daughter, Nor one in Sisera's camp on high When sunset flames with swords of slaughter And bannered armies mass the sky. Only as little maidens, gaily At play by wood and waterfall, Hillside and sea, I dream them daily And hear their happy voices call. Their songs rejoice when morn rejoices. They murmur home through evening's shades: The cherished ghosts of children's voices, The memories of little maids! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER FROM A GIRL TO HER OWN OLD AGE by ALICE MEYNELL SOLDIER: TWENTIETH CENTURY by ISAAC ROSENBERG A WISH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A CLEAR MIDNIGHT by WALT WHITMAN MY SOLITUDE by JAMES R. AGGELES |