O THE Little Lady's dainty As the picture in a book, And her hands are creamy-whiter Than the water-lilies look; Her laugh's the undrown'd music Of the maddest meadow-brook. -- Yet all in vain I praise The Little Lady! Her eyes are blue and dewy As the glimmering Summer-dawn, -- Her face is like the eglantine Before the dew is gone; And were that honied mouth of hers A bee's to feast upon, He'd be a bee bewildered, Little Lady! Her brow makes light look sallow; And the sunshine, I declare, Is but a yellow jealousy Awakened by her hair -- For O the dazzling glint of it Nor sight nor soul can bear, -- So Love goes groping for The Little Lady. And yet she's neither Nymph nor Fay, Nor yet of Angelkind: -- She's but a racing schoolgirl, with Her hair blown out behind And tremblingly unbraided by The fingers of the Wind, As it wildly swoops upon The Little Lady. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY: THE HYMN by JOHN MILTON SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 4. SHE REMEMBERS by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS I HAVE LOVED by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS ANNA BULLEN, ACT 1: SHORT CURSE by JOHN BANKS (17TH CENTURY-) |