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,