Poems (Waldenburg)/Little Peasant
PALMER'S "LITTLE PEASANT."
Com'st thou from valley of some stranger land
Thou little maiden, who, with timid feet
And simply clad, so modestly dost stand
In grand salon, where Art and Beauty meet?
Thou little maiden, who, with timid feet
And simply clad, so modestly dost stand
In grand salon, where Art and Beauty meet?
An empty nest, a wandering wood-bird's nest
Thou hold'st; all its nestlings flown away!
What pity stirreth in thy childish breast,
What plaintive story of their flight would'st say?
Thou hold'st; all its nestlings flown away!
What pity stirreth in thy childish breast,
What plaintive story of their flight would'st say?
Around thee, crimson draperies flaming fold:
They burn and glow beneath the lights which shine,
Lighting the nooks whose shadowy niches hold
White forms, by right of loveliness divine!
They burn and glow beneath the lights which shine,
Lighting the nooks whose shadowy niches hold
White forms, by right of loveliness divine!
Lo, Aphrodite! As when from swelling stream,
She perfect rose to be of Beauty—queen;
Stands, pure creation of a sculptor's dream,
Glowing with rosy light from curtain's sheen.
She perfect rose to be of Beauty—queen;
Stands, pure creation of a sculptor's dream,
Glowing with rosy light from curtain's sheen.
Near by Œnone, loveless lot is hers,
Wandering bereft of happiness and rest!
And lissome Leda winneth worshipers,
Languidly leaning o'er her white swan's breast!
Wandering bereft of happiness and rest!
And lissome Leda winneth worshipers,
Languidly leaning o'er her white swan's breast!
While myriad forms the light and color show;
Names borne to us from out the classic past;
Whose chiseled forms shall thro' the future glow;
Stilly Little Peasant, turn we to thee, last!
Names borne to us from out the classic past;
Whose chiseled forms shall thro' the future glow;
Stilly Little Peasant, turn we to thee, last!
Thou teachest us the simple truth of Art,
He who with noble thought and earnest deed
Studies the hidden depths of Nature's heart,
Finds in her lowliest way, the loftiest meed.
He who with noble thought and earnest deed
Studies the hidden depths of Nature's heart,
Finds in her lowliest way, the loftiest meed.
And childhood pure, carved by a master hand,
Shall, mid creations of more sensuous mould,
Triumphant in its simple beauty stand,
Till hearts are still, and ages have grown old.
Shall, mid creations of more sensuous mould,
Triumphant in its simple beauty stand,
Till hearts are still, and ages have grown old.