Verse > Anthologies > Fuess and Stearns, eds. > The Little Book of Society Verse
Fuess and Stearns, comps.  The Little Book of Society Verse.  1922.
The Quaker Lady
By Silas Weir Mitchell
’MID drab and gray of moldered leaves,
  The spoil of last October,
I see the Quaker lady stand,
  In dainty garb and sober.
No speech has she for praise or prayer,        5
  No blushes, as I claim
To know what gentle whisper gave
  Her prettiness a name.
The wizard stillness of the hour
  My fancy aids; again        10
Return the days of hoop and hood
  And tranquil William Penn.
I see a maid amid the wood
  Demurely calm and meek,
Untroubled by the mob of curls        15
  That riots on her cheek.
Her eyes are blue, her cheeks are red,—
  Gay colors for a Friend,—
And Nature with her mocking rouge
  Stands by a blush to lend.        20
The gown that holds her rosy grace
  Is truly of the oddest;
And wildly leaps her tender heart
  Beneath her kerchief modest.
It must have been the poet Love        25
  Who, while she slyly listened,
Divined the maiden in the flower,
  And thus her semblance christened.
Was he a proper Quaker lad
  In suit of simple gray?        30
What fortune had his venturous speech,
  And was it “yea” or “nay”?
And if indeed she murmured “yea,”
  And throbbed with worldly bliss,
I wonder if in such a case        35
  Do Quakers ever kiss?

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