Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/58

IN WAR TIME For the blithe children, gleaning behind

The women, marvellous treasures find.

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From the workers a maiden parts:

The baskets at her waistband shine

With berries that look like bleeding hearts

Of a hundred lovers at her shrine;

No Eastern girl were girdled so well

With silken belt and silver bell.

Her slender form is tall and strong;

Her voice is the sweetest in the song;

Her brown hair, fit to wear a crown,

Loose from its bonnet ripples down.

Toward the crates, that lie in the shade

Of the chestnut copse at the edge of the glade,

She moves from her mates, through happy rows

Of the children loving her as she goes.

Alice, our Alice! one and all,

Striving to stay her footsteps, call

(For children with skilful choice dispense

The largesse of their innocence);

But on, with a sister's smile, she moves

Into the darkness of the groves,

And deftly, daintily, one by one,

Shelters her baskets from the sun,

Under the network, fresh and cool,

Of lily-leaves from the crystal pool.

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Turning her violet eyes, their rays

Glistened full in the young man's gaze;

And each at each, for a moment's space,

Looked with a diffident surprise.

That laborer's daughter glorifies!

I never saw a fairer face, 28