Isabella Valancy Crawford (1850–1887)

LAUGHTER wears a lilied gown—

She is but a simple thing;

Laughter’s eyes are water-brown,

Ever glancing up and down

Like a woodbird’s restless wing.

Laughter slender is and round—

She is but a simple thing;

And her tresses fly unbound,

And about her brow are found

Buds that blossom by Mirth’s spring.

Laughter loves to praise and play—

She is but a simple thing—

With the children small who stray

Under hedges, where the May

Scents and blossoms richly fling.

Laughter coyly peeps and flits—

She is but a simple thing—

Round the flower-clad door, where sits

Maid who dimples as she knits,

Dreaming in the rosy spring.

Laughter hath light-tripping feet—

She is but a simple thing;

Ye may often Laughter meet

In the hayfield, gilt and sweet,

Where the mowers jest and sing.

Laughter shakes the bounteous leaves—

She is but a simple thing—

On the village ale-house eaves,

While the angered swallow grieves

And the rustic revellers sing.

Laughter never comes a-nigh—

She ’s a wise though simple thing—

Where men lay them down to die;

Nor will under stormy sky

Laughter’s airy music ring.