The eastern sky grew all aglow, A tinted fleet sailed just below.
The thick wood and the clinging mist Slow parted, wept good-bye, and kissed.
To primrose, tulip, daffodil, The wind came piping gay and shrill:
"Wake up! wake up! while day is new, And all the world is washed with dew!"
GRACE.
(June 13, 1899.)
So still you sleep upon your bed, So motionless and slender, It cannot be that you are dead, My maiden gay and tender!
You were no creature pale and meek That death should hasten after, The dimples played within your cheek, Your lips were made for laughter.