That knelt and picked the daisies at the side.
The child ran quickly with its gathered prize,
And, laughing, held it high above its head;
A light glowed bright within the woman’s eyes,
And in that light a mother’s love I read.
She took the little hand, and both passed on;
The prattle of the child I still could hear,
Mixed with the woman’s fond, caressing tone,
That came in loving words upon my ear.
“Come, Rosy, come!” Years, many years had gone,