GLIMMER.
TO EUNICE.
Ever the witch in a school-girl’s eyes,
The toss and the flutter of flaxen hair,
The titter, and blush of a rosy cheek,
Are calling away from a world of care.
Leading the hours with a hop and a skip,
Down through a path where the wind-flowers grow,
White are the ribbons tied under her chin,
White are the ribbons that flutter and blow.
Ever the ring of a roguish laugh,
The swing of a rope, or a bonnet blue,
And a bright little band on a dainty hand,
Where twinkles a stone of a ruby hue,
Are daring me climb to the highest limb,
Or to jump the brook in a wild-fire race,
I’m as free and as light as the tail of a kite,
And I’ve two pouting lips for a resting place.