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206
I seemed a shadow in her path,
A cloud upon her sky,
I deemed it scorn, perchance e'en wrath,
In her averted eye.
******
It was her natal day. A crowd
Of cringing nothings came—
I call them nothings—for they showed
Nought noble save a name.
Aud flowers were offered—and I brought
Mine from the brook's bright rim,
With Autumn's Crocuses: not wrought
Into a garland trim.
But they were wild, and fresh, and sweet,
And innocent and fair
As she whom others sought to greet
With off'rings rich and rare.
Yet a rose-wreath her brow entwined,
By daring suitor placed;
A gay exotic was enshrined
Close by her girdled waist.
