INNOCENCE
OFT I have met herIn openings of the woods and pleasant ways,Where flowers beset her,And hanging branches crowned her head with bays.Oft have I seen her walkThrough flower-decked fields unto the oaken pass,Where lay the slumbery flock,Swoln with much eating of the tender grass.Oft have I seen her standBy wandering brooks o'er which the willows met;Or where the meadow-landBalmed the soft air with dew-mist drapery wet.Much patting of the windHad bloomed her cheek with color of the rose;Rare beauty was entwinedWith locks and looks in movement or repose....The floriage of the springAnd summer coronals were hers in trust,Till came the winter-kingTo droop their sweetness into native dust....The dingle and the glade,The brown-ribbed mountains, and tall, talking treesSeemed fairer while she stayed,And drank of their dim meanings and old ease....And chiefly she did loveTo soothe the widow's ruth and orphan's tear;With counsel from above,Alleviating woe, allaying fear....There was a quiet graceIn all her actions, tokening gentleness,Yet firm intent to traceThe paths of duty leading up to bliss....She thought of One who boreThe awful burden of the world's despair—What could she give Him moreThan blameless thoughts, a simple life and fair?She was and is, for stillShe lives and moves upon the grass-green earth,And, as of old, doth fillHer heart with peace, still mingling tears with mirth.O, could we find her out,And learn of her this wildering maze to tread!And, eased of every doubt,Let deadly passions linger with the dead!...
OFT I have met herIn openings of the woods and pleasant ways,Where flowers beset her,And hanging branches crowned her head with bays.Oft have I seen her walkThrough flower-decked fields unto the oaken pass,Where lay the slumbery flock,Swoln with much eating of the tender grass.Oft have I seen her standBy wandering brooks o'er which the willows met;Or where the meadow-landBalmed the soft air with dew-mist drapery wet.Much patting of the windHad bloomed her cheek with color of the rose;Rare beauty was entwinedWith locks and looks in movement or repose....The floriage of the springAnd summer coronals were hers in trust,Till came the winter-kingTo droop their sweetness into native dust....The dingle and the glade,The brown-ribbed mountains, and tall, talking treesSeemed fairer while she stayed,And drank of their dim meanings and old ease....And chiefly she did loveTo soothe the widow's ruth and orphan's tear;With counsel from above,Alleviating woe, allaying fear....There was a quiet graceIn all her actions, tokening gentleness,Yet firm intent to traceThe paths of duty leading up to bliss....She thought of One who boreThe awful burden of the world's despair—What could she give Him moreThan blameless thoughts, a simple life and fair?She was and is, for stillShe lives and moves upon the grass-green earth,And, as of old, doth fillHer heart with peace, still mingling tears with mirth.O, could we find her out,And learn of her this wildering maze to tread!And, eased of every doubt,Let deadly passions linger with the dead!...
OFT I have met herIn openings of the woods and pleasant ways,Where flowers beset her,And hanging branches crowned her head with bays.
OFT I have met her
In openings of the woods and pleasant ways,
Where flowers beset her,
And hanging branches crowned her head with bays.
Oft have I seen her walkThrough flower-decked fields unto the oaken pass,Where lay the slumbery flock,Swoln with much eating of the tender grass.
Oft have I seen her walk
Through flower-decked fields unto the oaken pass,
Where lay the slumbery flock,
Swoln with much eating of the tender grass.
Oft have I seen her standBy wandering brooks o'er which the willows met;Or where the meadow-landBalmed the soft air with dew-mist drapery wet.
Oft have I seen her stand
By wandering brooks o'er which the willows met;
Or where the meadow-land
Balmed the soft air with dew-mist drapery wet.
Much patting of the windHad bloomed her cheek with color of the rose;Rare beauty was entwinedWith locks and looks in movement or repose....
Much patting of the wind
Had bloomed her cheek with color of the rose;
Rare beauty was entwined
With locks and looks in movement or repose....
The floriage of the springAnd summer coronals were hers in trust,Till came the winter-kingTo droop their sweetness into native dust....
The floriage of the spring
And summer coronals were hers in trust,
Till came the winter-king
To droop their sweetness into native dust....
The dingle and the glade,The brown-ribbed mountains, and tall, talking treesSeemed fairer while she stayed,And drank of their dim meanings and old ease....
The dingle and the glade,
The brown-ribbed mountains, and tall, talking trees
Seemed fairer while she stayed,
And drank of their dim meanings and old ease....
And chiefly she did loveTo soothe the widow's ruth and orphan's tear;With counsel from above,Alleviating woe, allaying fear....
And chiefly she did love
To soothe the widow's ruth and orphan's tear;
With counsel from above,
Alleviating woe, allaying fear....
There was a quiet graceIn all her actions, tokening gentleness,Yet firm intent to traceThe paths of duty leading up to bliss....
There was a quiet grace
In all her actions, tokening gentleness,
Yet firm intent to trace
The paths of duty leading up to bliss....
She thought of One who boreThe awful burden of the world's despair—What could she give Him moreThan blameless thoughts, a simple life and fair?
She thought of One who bore
The awful burden of the world's despair—
What could she give Him more
Than blameless thoughts, a simple life and fair?
She was and is, for stillShe lives and moves upon the grass-green earth,And, as of old, doth fillHer heart with peace, still mingling tears with mirth.
She was and is, for still
She lives and moves upon the grass-green earth,
And, as of old, doth fill
Her heart with peace, still mingling tears with mirth.
O, could we find her out,And learn of her this wildering maze to tread!And, eased of every doubt,Let deadly passions linger with the dead!...
O, could we find her out,
And learn of her this wildering maze to tread!
And, eased of every doubt,
Let deadly passions linger with the dead!...