The Easter Girl
Now, you looked sweet on Easter morn!
Spring blossoms dipped in dew
Were not so fresh and not so sweet
And not so fair as you!
Naught else in nature was so fair—
The arching, rain-washed skies
Were not so pure nor so demure
As were your downcast eyes.
And roses nodding by the way,
Their tinted leaves to shed
Where you would take your way to church,
Were not so rare a red
As were the fresh, young lips of you!
The blossoms at your feet
Were dipped in dew, but, maiden, you
Were many times as sweet.
I watched you going by as one
Would listen to a hymn;
As one would stand soul-glorified
Before the seraphim
And take no thought of flight of time!
While gazing on your face
Age after age might turn its page
Yet seem a moment’s space.
I gazed upon the spring-clad ways,
On blooms begemmed with dew;
And gazed on you and rendered thanks
That I was not as you;
I’d rather be the worshipper
To watch your passing by
Than miss the smart you give the heart
Of such an oaf as I.