I’LL don my kerchief blue, she said,
“And wear my Sunday gown,
For every morn, with lightsome tread
A youth goes by to town.
“And ever as he passes by,
Methinks he walks more slow,
And glances up, with wistful eye,
To where I sit and sew.
“And sometimes, with a tender sound
He whistles soft and low;
How can that gentle youth have found
That I love music so?
“His flashing eyes reveal his soul,
They are so very bright;
And ever in his button-hole
He sticks a lily white.
“He never dons a flaunting rose,
But always wears the same;
Perhaps it is because he knows
That Lily is my name!
“I’ll wear a wreath of lilies white
Methinks, when I’m a bride–
Oh, here he comes, with footstep light–
But–who walks at his side?
“It’s some one in a scarlet shawl;
Perhaps he calls her fair,
But I don’t think she’s nice at all:
I hate that yellow hair!
“How can he walk with such a fright?
Oh dear, what shall I do?
He’s given her that blossom white!
Is her name Lily too?
“But now I look at him, he seems
Less handsome than before;
His eyes have lost their radiant gleams,
His voice is sweet no more.
“His hair, methinks, is getting red,
His nose less straight appears:
I could not such a creature wed,
Though he should sue for years!
“And other youths for me may sigh,
And I may love again,
But never, never more will I
Watch at the window-pane!”
(Constance Naden)
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Based on Topics: Soul Poems, Youth Poems, Fairness Poems, Name Poems, Hair PoemsBased on Keywords: button-hole, but-who