POEMS OF JAMES RYDER RANDALL
Lo! the boreal wind blew warm and soft,
And the heavens had gentle eyes for all—
I looked, with a gallant smile, aloft,
And my spirit had no gall.
My steps were turned to the ball again,
With an arching front and a springy tread—
“Oh, she is an angel to this train;
She is better than any,” I said.
And better is she, sweet child, away
In that willowy cottage, neat and white,
For she is the darlingest bird of day,
But these are the birds of night.
The dear God nestles her eyes in sleep,
And her visions are beautiful and serene;
The dawn has nothing for her to weep,
With a flushed, disheveled mien.
And I swear, as I murmured things like these,
And even the revelry seemed but good,
I saw, ’mid its giddiest ecstacies,
My Violet of the Wood.
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