"MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY"
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle-shells
And pretty maids all in a row!"
—Mother Goose.
MARY, Mistress Mary,
How does your garden grow?
From your uplands airy,
Mary, Mistress Mary,
Float the chimes of faery
When the breezes blow!
Mary, Mistress Mary,
How does your garden grow?
With flower-maidens, singing
Among the morning hills—
With silvern bells a-ringing,
With flower-maidens singing,
With vocal lilies, springing
By chanting daffodils;
With flower-maidens, singing
Among the morning hills!
THE TRIOLET
YOUR triolet should glimmer
Like a butterfly;
In golden light, or dimmer,
Your triolet should glimmer,
Tremble, turn, and shimmer,
Flash, and flutter by;
Your triolet should glimmer
Like a butterfly.
FROM THE BRIDGE
HELD and thrilled by the vision
I stood, as the twilight died,
Where the great bridge soars like a song
Over the crawling tide—
Stood on the middle arch—
And night flooded in from the bay,
And wonderful under the stars
Before me the city lay;
Girdled with swinging waters—
Guarded by ship on ship—
A gem that the strong old ocean
Held in his giant grip;