| |
| MY girl hath violet eyes and yellow hair, | |
| A soft hand, like a lady’s, small and fair, | |
| A sweet fate pouting in a white straw bonnet, | |
| A tiny foot, and little boot upon it; | |
| And all her finery to charm beholders | 5 |
| Is the gray shawl drawn tight around her shoulders, | |
| The plain stuff-gown and collar white as snow, | |
| And sweet red petticoat that peeps below. | |
| But gladly in the busy town goes she, | |
| Summer and winter, fearing nobodie; | 10 |
| She pats the pavement with her fairy feet, | |
| With fearless eyes she charms the crowded street; | |
| And in her pocket lie, in lieu of gold, | |
| A lucky sixpence and a thimble old. | |
| |
| We lodged in the same house a year ago: | 15 |
| She on the topmost floor, I just below,— | |
| She, a poor milliner, content and wise, | |
| I, a poor city clerk, with hopes to rise; | |
| And, long ere we were friends, I learnt to love | |
| The little angel on the floor above. | 20 |
| For, every morn, ere from my bed I stirred, | |
| Her chamber door would open, and I heard,— | |
| And listened, blushing, to her coming down, | |
| And palpitated with her rustling gown, | |
| And tingled while her foot went downward slow, | 25 |
| Creaked like a cricket, passed, and died below; | |
| Then peeping from the window, pleased and sly, | |
| I saw the pretty shining face go by, | |
| Healthy and rosy, fresh from slumber sweet,— | |
| A sunbeam in the quiet morning street. | 30 |
| |
| And every night, when in from work she tript, | |
| Red to the ears I from my chamber slipt, | |
| That I might hear upon the narrow stair | |
| Her low “Good evening,” as she passed me there. | |
| And when her door was closed, below sat I, | 35 |
| And hearkened stilly as she stirred on high,— | |
| Watched the red firelight shadows in the room, | |
| Fashioned her face before me in the gloom, | |
| And heard her close the window, lock the door, | |
| Moving about more lightly than before, | 40 |
| And thought, “She is undressing now!” and, oh! | |
| My cheeks were hot, my heart was in a glow! | |
| And I made pictures of her,—standing bright | |
| Before the looking-glass in bed-gown white. | |
| Unbinding in a knot her yellow hair, | 45 |
| Then kneeling timidly to say a prayer; | |
| Till, last, the floor creaked softly overhead, | |
| ’Neath bare feet tripping to the little bed,— | |
| And all was hushed. Yet still I hearkened on, | |
| Till the faint sounds about the streets were gone; | 50 |
| And saw her slumbering with lips apart, | |
| One little hand upon her little heart, | |
| The other pillowing a face that smiled | |
| In slumber like the slumber of a child, | |
| The bright hair shining round the small white ear, | 55 |
| The soft breath stealing visible and clear, | |
| And mixing with the moon’s whose frosty gleam | |
| Made round her rest a vaporous light of dream. | |
| |
| How free she wandered in the wicked place, | |
| Protected only by her gentle face! | 60 |
| She saw bad things—how could she choose but see?— | |
| She heard of wantonness and misery; | |
| The city closed around her night and day, | |
| But lightly, happily, she went her way. | |
| Nothing of evil that she saw or heard | 65 |
| Could touch a heart so innocently stirred,— | |
| By simple hopes that cheered it through the storm, | |
| And little flutterings that kept it warm. | |
| No power had she to reason out her needs, | |
| To give the whence and wherefore of her deeds; | 70 |
| But she was good and pure amid the strife, | |
| By virtue of the joy that was her life. | |
| Here, where a thousand spirits daily fall, | |
| Where heart and soul and senses turn to gall, | |
| She floated, pure as innocent could be, | 75 |
| Like a small sea-bird on a stormy sea, | |
| Which breasts the billows, wafted to and fro, | |
| Fearless, uninjured, while the strong winds blow, | |
| While the clouds gather, and the waters roar, | |
| And mighty ships are broken on the shore. | 80 |
| All winter long, witless who peeped the while, | |
| She sweetened the chill mornings with her smile; | |
| When the soft snow was falling dimly white, | |
| Shining among it with a child’s delight, | |
| Bright as a rose, though nipping winds might blow, | 85 |
| And leaving fairy footprints in the snow! | |
| |
| ’T was when the spring was coming, when the snow | |
| Had melted, and fresh winds began to blow, | |
| And girls were selling violets in the town, | |
| That suddenly a fever struck me down. | 90 |
| The world was changed, the sense of life was pained, | |
| And nothing but a shadow-land remained; | |
| Death came in a dark mist and looked at me, | |
| I felt his breathing, though I could not see, | |
| But heavily I lay and did not stir, | 95 |
| And had strange images and dreams of her. | |
| Then came a vacancy: with feeble breath, | |
| I shivered under the cold touch of Death, | |
| And swooned among strange visions of the dead, | |
| When a voice called from heaven, and he fled; | 100 |
| And suddenly I wakened, as it seemed, | |
| From a deep sleep wherein I had not dreamed. | |
| |
| And it was night, and I could see and hear, | |
| And I was in the room I held so dear, | |
| And unaware, stretched out upon my bed, | 105 |
| I hearkened for a footstep overhead. | |
| |
| But all was hushed. I looked around the room, | |
| And slowly made out shapes amid the gloom. | |
| The wall was reddened by a rosy light, | |
| A faint fire flickered, and I knew ’t was night, | 110 |
| Because below there was a sound of feet | |
| Dying away along the quiet street,— | |
| When, turning my pale face and sighing low, | |
| I saw a vision in the quiet glow: | |
| A little figure, in a cotton gown, | 115 |
| Looking upon the fire and stooping down, | |
| Her side to me, her face illumed, she eyed | |
| Two chestnuts burning slowly side by side,— | |
| Her lips apart, her clear eyes strained to see, | |
| Her little hands clasped tight around her knee, | 120 |
| The firelight gleaming on her golden head, | |
| And tinting her white neck to rosy red, | |
| Her features bright and beautiful, and pure, | |
| With childish fear and yearning half demure. | |
| |
| O sweet, sweet dream! I thought, and strained mine eyes, | 125 |
| Fearing to break the spell with words and sighs. | |
| |
| Softly she stooped, her dear face sweetly fair, | |
| And sweeter since a light like love was there, | |
| Brightening, watching, more and more elate, | |
| As the nuts glowed together in the grate, | 130 |
| Crackling with little jets of fiery light, | |
| Till side by side they turned to ashes white,— | |
| Then up she leapt, her face cast off its fear | |
| For rapture that itself was radiance clear, | |
| And would have clapped her little hands in glee. | 135 |
| But, pausing, bit her lips and peeped at me, | |
| And met the face that yearned on her so whitely, | |
| And gave a cry and trembled, blushing brightly, | |
| While raised on elbow, as she turned to flee, | |
| “Polly!” I cried,—and grew as red as she! | 140 |
| |
| It was no dream! for soon my thoughts were clear, | |
| And she could tell me all, and I could hear: | |
| How in my sickness friendless I had lain, | |
| How the hard people pitied not my pain; | |
| How, in despite of what bad people said, | 145 |
| She left her labors, stopped beside my bed, | |
| And nursed me, thinking sadly I would die; | |
| How, in the end, the danger passed me by; | |
| How she had sought to steal away before | |
| The sickness passed, and I was strong once more. | 150 |
| By fits she told the story in mine ear, | |
| And troubled all the telling with a fear | |
| Lest by my cold man’s heart she should be chid, | |
| Lest I should think her bold in what she did; | |
| But, lying on my bed, I dared to say, | 155 |
| How I had watched and loved her many a day, | |
| How dear she was to me, and dearer still | |
| For that strange kindness done while I was ill, | |
| And how I could but think that Heaven above | |
| Had done it all to bind our lives in love. | 160 |
| And Polly cried, turning her face away, | |
| And seemed afraid, and answered “yea” nor “nay;” | |
| Then stealing close with little pants and sighs, | |
| Looked on my pale thin face and earnest eyes, | |
| And seemed in act to fling her arms about | 165 |
| My neck; then, blushing, paused, in fluttering doubt; | |
| Last, sprang upon my heart, sighing and sobbing,— | |
| That I might feel how gladly hers was throbbing! | |
| |
| Ah! ne’er shall I forget until I die, | |
| How happy the dreamy days went by, | 170 |
| While I grew well, and lay with soft heart-beats, | |
| Hearkening the pleasant murmur from the streets, | |
| And Polly by me like a sunny beam, | |
| And life all changed, and love a drowsy dream! | |
| ’T was happiness enough to lie and see | 175 |
| The little golden head bent droopingly | |
| Over its sewing, while the still time flew, | |
| And my fond eyes were dim with happy dew! | |
| And then, when I was nearly well and strong, | |
| And she went back to labor all day long, | 180 |
| How sweet to lie alone with half-shut eyes, | |
| And hear the distant murmurs and the cries, | |
| And think how pure she was from pain and sin,— | |
| And how the summer days were coming in! | |
| Then, as the sunset faded from the room, | 185 |
| To listen for her footstep in the gloom, | |
| To pant as it came stealing up the stair, | |
| To feel my whole life brighten unaware | |
| When the soft tap came to the door, and when | |
| The door was opened for her smile again! | 190 |
| Best, the long evenings!—when, till late at night, | |
| She sat beside me in the quiet light, | |
| And happy things were said and kisses won, | |
| And serious gladness found its vent in fun. | |
| Sometimes I would draw close her shining head, | 195 |
| And pour her bright hair out upon the bed, | |
| And she would laugh, and blush, and try to scold, | |
| While “Here,” I cried, “I count my wealth in gold!” | |
| |
| Once, like a little sinner for transgression, | |
| She blushed upon my breast, and made confession: | 200 |
| How, when that night I woke and looked around, | |
| I found her busy with a charm profound,— | |
| One chestnut was herself, my girl confessed, | |
| The other was the person she loved best, | |
| And if they burned together side by side, | 205 |
| He loved her, and she would become his bride; | |
| And burn indeed they did, to her delight,— | |
| And had the pretty charm not proved right? | |
| Thus much, and more, with timorous joy, she said, | |
| While her confessor, too, grew rosy red,— | 210 |
| And close together pressed two blissful faces, | |
| As I absolved the sinner, with embraces. | |
| |
| And here is winter come again, winds blow, | |
| The houses and the streets are white with snow; | |
| And in the long and pleasant eventide, | 215 |
| Why, what is Polly making at my side? | |
| What but a silk gown, beautiful and grand, | |
| We bought together lately in the Strand! | |
| What but a dress to go to church in soon, | |
| And wear right queenly ’neath a honeymoon! | 220 |
| And who shall match her with her new straw bonnet, | |
| Her tiny foot and little boot upon it; | |
| Embroidered petticoat and silk gown new, | |
| And shawl she wears as few fine ladies do? | |
| And she will keep, to charm away all ill, | 225 |
| The lucky sixpence in her pocket still; | |
| And we will turn, come fair or cloudy weather, | |
| To ashes, like the chestnuts, close together! | |
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