Poems (Curwen)/Our Dame Durden

by Annie Isabel Curwen

Our Dame Durden.

LIVERPOOL COURIER.

Now, whether our Dame be old or young,
As some Links say and others have sung,
It matters not, for the children aver
There is not a Dame to equal her.

Now, by your leave, I'll have my say,
I think our Dame has a winning way,
And I care not if she be young or old—
For I'm sure she has a heart of gold.

I fancy her most with eyes of grey,
With a mouth round which the smiles oft play;
And tho' I have never grasped her hand,
Her kindly nature I understand.

I fancy that suffering ones in pain,
Would long for her cheery tones again;
And dumb brutes, catching her gentle eye,
Would frisk about her as she pass'd by.

And I know she'd never glance with scorn
At a poorer sister, or rudely turn
From the cry of distress. Ah, no! for she
Is the very soul of courtesy.

I know her not, and she knows not me;
And strangers ever we twain may be;
But though our paths lie wide apart,
Sympathy flows from heart to heart.