Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/90

 Lo! the boreal wind blew warm and soft,
 * And the heavens had gentle eyes for all—

I looked, with a gallant smile, aloft,
 * And my spirit had no gall.

My steps were turned to the ball again,
 * With an arching front and a springy tread—

“Oh, she is an angel to this train;
 * She is better than any,” I said.

And better is she, sweet child, away
 * In that willowy cottage, neat and white,

For she is the darlingest bird of day,
 * But these are the birds of night.

The dear God nestles her eyes in sleep,
 * And her visions are beautiful and serene;

The dawn has nothing for her to weep,
 * With a flushed, disheveled mien.

And I swear, as I murmured things like these,
 * And even the revelry seemed but good,

I saw, ’mid its giddiest ecstacies,
 * My Violet of the Wood.