The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
LaughterIsabella Valancy Crawford (18501887)
L
She is but a simple thing;
Laughter’s eyes are water-brown,
Ever glancing up and down
Like a woodbird’s restless wing.
She is but a simple thing;
And her tresses fly unbound,
And about her brow are found
Buds that blossom by Mirth’s spring.
She is but a simple thing—
With the children small who stray
Under hedges, where the May
Scents and blossoms richly fling.
She is but a simple thing—
Round the flower-clad door, where sits
Maid who dimples as she knits,
Dreaming in the rosy spring.
She is but a simple thing;
Ye may often Laughter meet
In the hayfield, gilt and sweet,
Where the mowers jest and sing.
She is but a simple thing—
On the village ale-house eaves,
While the angered swallow grieves
And the rustic revellers sing.
She ’s a wise though simple thing—
Where men lay them down to die;
Nor will under stormy sky
Laughter’s airy music ring.