by George Hooper.
Originally published in The Leader (Joseph Clatton, junr.) vol.1 #31 (26 Oct 1850).
She wore a gown of silver grey;
A simple vest, nor grave nor gay,
Which robed her like the morning sky,
And kissed the envious ground.
Yet, from beneath, her tiny feet
And slender ancles, sandalled meet,
In graceful motion met the eye.
A crimson net her hair imbound,—
Her hair, in bands of richest brown,
Shading her temples like a crown.
Her brow was high, and full, and white;
Her eyes were thoughtful grey, and bright
With endless meaning, and her smile,
Like moonlight through the roseate veil
Of Evening o'er some southern isle;
Mixed with that human element
Which Nature's beauties lack, and fail
To fill the heart with sweet content.
Her voice was soft, and o'er the park
Rang like the carol of a lark;
And when she laughed, 'twas like a run
Of gliding notes, struck one by one
From silver-toned harmonicon.
Her cheeks were fair, as rose-leaves dying
With morning's dew upon them lying;
But when she gaily smiled and spoke,
A gentle tide of blushes broke
Over their rounded loveliness.
Her mouth seemed half-severe, and half,
In its uncertain playfulness,
The expectation of a laugh:
Yet in its curves there was exprest
The sadness of a deep unrest.
With quiet, dove-like stateliness,
She walked along the shaded ways,
Like one who mused upon her days,—
A Princess, not by royal blood,
But royal right of Womanhood.
Sept. 16, 1850.