THE GATE.
The light of love o'er her features played,
The silver streaks through her bright hair strayed.
Her noble mien and her gentle hand
Proclaimed her daughter of no mean land.
Voice and action attested her birth,
Better than mere gilt baubles of earth.
Winter had folded its shroud and fled;
The daisies peeped from their grassy bed.
The dark mounds rose from their circling green;
Young plants smiled back to the bright'ning sheen.
No wealth of splendor, yet choice as gold
Those gifts from hands of the loved of old.
Hands which will clasp my hand nevermore
Till feet stand firm on the tideless shore.
Careless young Playful had oped the gate;
Hastening footsteps, that could not wait,