Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Poems. III. DariaDora Greenwell (18211882)
O
Yet only proud perchance in being fair,
And in her speech, and in her smiling free,
As Rose to summer air;
Another damsel sat who sweetly sung;
And one who Love’s fond ancient chronicle
Read; and these three were young,
But she I speak of, read not, neither sung,
But deemed she ministered enough delight
In being fair and young.
“Now am I weary of the vows and sighs
Of lovers that to die for me are fain,
Yet find I none who dies.”
Or sadness—which, I knew not then, nor she:
Deep words are spoken, deepest thoughts confessed,
By hearts in careless glee.
Find one who for my love indeed had died,
Then let him come to ask for love again,
And I will be his bride!”
But then most fair, methought, in being meek;
And yet the same was she whom otherwhere
I heard so proudly speak.
As is the dove’s, and dove-like still caressed
One tender note, as if returning oft
To what it loveth best.
By that sweet olden promise, One who died
For me and for my love now have I found,
I quit no more His side.”