Themes and Variations/The Miniature
THE MINIATURE.
Silent she sits, a picture in her hand
She seems to question with regretfal gaze:
It is herself, a wild and happy child,
With flying hair, and innocent, smiling eyes;
Her arms and neck with wreaths of daisies bound,
She seems to question with regretfal gaze:
It is herself, a wild and happy child,
With flying hair, and innocent, smiling eyes;
Her arms and neck with wreaths of daisies bound,
And as she looks and looks, with mingled joy and pain,
She seems to breathe the morning air of life again;
Wild playmate of the sun and wind! The favourite of the Spring!
Gay rebel of the little school! Chief of the rose-cheeked ring!
Where are those merry games and toys? What has become of thee?
And who this stranger in thy place, who looks so wistfully
Into those eyes as though she fain would hear her fortune told?
Ah, little gipsy! not even though we crossed thy hand with gold!
She seems to breathe the morning air of life again;
Wild playmate of the sun and wind! The favourite of the Spring!
Gay rebel of the little school! Chief of the rose-cheeked ring!
Where are those merry games and toys? What has become of thee?
And who this stranger in thy place, who looks so wistfully
Into those eyes as though she fain would hear her fortune told?
Ah, little gipsy! not even though we crossed thy hand with gold!