First, she is good enough to see—
A pretty face and kind,
That somehow fairer is to me
Than others I can find.
She has two lips with laughter filled,
That hold not scorn nor sneer,
She is a little bit self-willed—
Gangs her ain gait, I fear.
She has two strong and supple hands,
Two bright and tender eyes,
She has a heart that understands,
She has a judgment wise.
Her voice—at least to me—is fine,
I like to lie and rest,
And hear her reading, line by line,
The poems I love best.
No jealousy, no trace of spite
Is in her nature strong,
She is so loyal to the right,
So gentle with the wrong.
The Prodigal
THEY sat alone by the fireside, a couple old and gray,
Brooding over a sorrow keen at the close of a winter’s day.
The woman spake to the man at length, tenderly, wistfully,
“The pillar of fire still guides by night, the cloud still guides by day.