The little old lady
Was walking along the street.
She carried her head high though of small stature,
And although he ermine mantle was yellow with age
And her bonnet of an old fashion,
The little old lady
Looked like a well-born woman and moved like a queen.
Yet for all her composure,
Fear was in her heart,
For she had no knowledge,
No remembrance how she came into the street.
She remembered last walking alone in her garden
At Porto Fino, under the mimosas,
And here she was in England,
In a quiet street, approaching the door of her house.
“It is only a dream,” she thought,
“I shall soon awaken.”
Still fear was in her heart.
“I have lost my memory,” she thought, “No one must know it.”
So she came to the door of her house and felt for her key.
And the key was not there.
She laid her hand on the bell. It eluded her fingers.
A man walking in the street,
The quiet street,
Seeing her trouble, came to her aid courteously.
He would ring the bell. Hardly was his hand upon it
When she saw that the door had been open,
Open all the while.
She passed into the hall and on to the staircase.
The eyes of the great portraits
Hung on the walls
Followed her now, just as they had always followed her,
Beautiful child, beautiful girl, triumphant woman.
The painted eyes followed her,
The little old lady,
Ascending the wide stairs in her empty home.
She came to the library.
A fire burned on the hearth.
Her father sat beside it in the famL ir attitude.
One foot stretched to the blaze, supple in its slipper
The white head and the black brows were her own-
He leaned back in his chair
With eyes half closed,
His long slender fingers placed tip against tip.
So great was her joy,
Seeing her father,
She forgot all wonder, she forgot all incredulity.
“Father!” she cried.
He stood up and his arms were about her.
“O Father!” she said, “I have been so frightened.
I have lost my memory.”
And he, caressing her “Poor little Annie!”
Meantime the bell
Had hardly ceased to sound,
Pealing through the empty house.
Only a young maid-servant heard it and came,
Slowly unbarring, opened the heavy door.
A man stood on the step,
His back towards her,
Looking like one amazed up and down the street.
“I rang the bell,” he said,
“For an old lady
Who stood on the step here, trying to ring it,
Now, all in a moment, the lady has vanished.”
“What was she like, Sir?”
The maid inquired.
“A small woman, yet she looked like a great lady.
“She had crisp white hair
And black eyebrows
And an old-fashioned h jnnet with wide ribbons
Tied under her chin” -“But that is my Lady.
O Sir!” cried the maid,
“That is my Lady.
Sir, she died abroad suddenly this morning.”
But the little old lady
Did not know that she was dead.
(Margaret Louisa Woods)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Mind Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Youth Poems, Dreams Poems, Cry Poems, Kings & Queens Poems, Fire Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Home Poems, Beauty PoemsBased on Keywords: eluded, well-born, porto, incredulity, fino, unbarring, maid-servant