Poems (Geisse)/My Old Playmate
MY OLD PLAYMATE.
Is it she with whom I played? She?—that happy little maid! This pale woman, sorrow bowed, With a face so stern and proud—Face that haunts the memory long With its tale of grief and wrong.
And the child I used to know, How she shrank from sight of woe! Hers was such a fair domain, She could brook no thought of pain—Nothing that would bring distress, Her dear world must only bless.
Ah! I seem to see her still,With her sweet, imperious will,And her eager, joyous ways, Bright as nature's brightest days,She was sovereign, I was knight, Always yielding her the right; Though I sometimes would protest When I thought I knew the best. But I'm glad she had her way, When I look at her to-day, Glad for every hour of joy That we knew as girl and boy.