PEA-BLOSSOM.
I hear a faltering footstep
Crossing the matted floor,
And a little knock low down
On the panels of the door.
A small hand is uplifted
To raise the iron latch,
And entrance claimed in a silvery tone
No nightingale could match.
Away with books and papers!
Enter, my fairy bright;
Sweep the dim cobwebs from my brain,
And let in air and light.
Close the dull portals of history,
Unclasp that magic door
That leads to the jewelled caverns
Of fiction and fairy lore:
The legend of Cinderella,
Of knights and maidens small.
Of princely frogs and pigmy dogs.
And my lady's golden ball.
Good-night, my white-robed enchantress.
My blue-sashed, sunny-haired muse;
Perfection thou art, from that topmost curl
To the tips of thy dainty shoes.
Watch her well, angel-guardian!
Pray for her, crowned saint.
That when the time for the cross shall come,
Her spirit grow not faint;
That she may go to her last repose
With a heart unspotted by sin—
That this face of lustrous purity
May mirror the soul within.