Poems (Chandler)/Her Window
UT of her window, that morn of grace,
She leaned her radiant, beautiful face,—
The sun, ashamed, went into a cloud;
But, glad of the dawning, the birds sang loud.
HER WINDOW.
UT of her window, that morn of grace, She leaned her radiant, beautiful face,—
The sun, ashamed, went into a cloud;
But, glad of the dawning, the birds sang loud.
A laggard went up the garden walk,
And lingered to hear the murmuring talk
Of flower and-bee and every comer
That fluttered along in front of the summer.
And lingered to hear the murmuring talk
Of flower and-bee and every comer
That fluttered along in front of the summer.
He quaffed the wine of the morning air,
And felt with a thrill that the day was fair,—
Then he raised his eyes to her window's height,—
"Ah, me," he said, "but the sun is bright!"
And felt with a thrill that the day was fair,—
Then he raised his eyes to her window's height,—
"Ah, me," he said, "but the sun is bright!"