O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes,
Down-dropp'd brown eyes, so tender!
Then what said I? Gallant replies
Seem flattery, and offend her:—
But—meet no angels, Pansie?
806. To Two Bereaved
You must be sad; for though it is to Heaven,
'Tis hard to yield a little girl of seven.
Alas, for me 'tis hard my grief to rule,
Who only met her as she went to school;
Who never heard the little lips so sweet
Say even 'Good-morning,' though our eyes would meet
As whose would fain be friends! How must you sigh,
Sick for your loss, when even so sad am I,
Who never clasp'd the small hands any day!
Fair flowers thrive round the little grave, I pray.
THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON
1836-1914
807. Wassail Chorus at the Mermaid Tavern
Christmas knows a merry, merry place,
Where he goes with fondest face,
Brightest eye, brightest hair:
Tell the Mermaid where is that one place,
Where ?
Raleigh.
'Tis by Devon's glorious halls,
Whence, dear Ben, I come again:
Bright of golden roofs and walls—
El Dorado's rare domain—
