Poems (Osgood)/Lulu

by Frances Sargent Osgood

LULU.

There's many a maiden
 More brilliant, by far,
With the step of a fawn,
 And the glance of a star;
But heart there was never
 More tender and true,
Than beats in the bosom
 Of darling Lulu!

Her eyes are too modest
 To dazzle; but oh!
They win you to love her,
 If you will or no!
And when they glance up,
 With their shy, startled look,
Her soul trembles in them,
 Like light in a brook.
There are bright eyes by thousands,
 Black, hazel, and blue;
But whose are so loving
 As those of Lulu!

And waves of soft hair,
 That a poet would vow
Was moonlight on marble,
 Droop over her brow.
The rose rarely blooms
 Thro' that light, silken maze,
But when it does play there,
 How softly it plays!
Oh! there's many a maiden
 More brilliant, 'tis true,
But none so enchanting
 As little Lulu!

She flits, like a fairy,
 About me all day,
Now nestling beside me,
 Now up and away!
She singeth unbidden,
 With warble as wild
As the lay of the meadow-lark,
 Innocent child!
She's playful, and tender,
 And trusting, and true,
She's sweet as a lily,
 My dainty Lulu!

She whispers sweet fancies,
 Now mournful, now bright,
Then deepen her glances,
 With love and delight;
And the slow, timid smile,
 That dawns in her face,
Seems fill'd with her spirit's
 Ineffable grace.
Oh! the world cannot offer
 A treasure so true,
As the childlike devotion
 Of happy Lulu!