Page:Poems Brown.djvu/87

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poems.
81
LADY EVELYN'S WOOING.
On the border of the forest,
Where the bright-hued daisies rest,
Stands a little cottage neat,
Covered o'er with flowers sweet.

Creeping vines run o'er the roof,
Nestling there without reproof;
But the one inside the wall
Is the fairest flower of all.

Lady Evelyn, blithe and gay,
Singing sweetly all the day,
Is an orphan; but her face
Brings sunshine to that quiet place.

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Her hair is like rippling threads of gold,
And her maiden charms each day unfold;
Her hands are brown, yet fair to me,
Sweet Lady Evelyn, flower of the sea.