Poems (Osgood)/The Baby and the Breeze
THE BABY AND THE BREEZE.
The breeze was high, and blew her sun-brown tresses About her snowy brow and violet eyes; And she—my Ellen—brave and sweetly wise, In gay defiance of its rough caresses, With rosy, pouting month, essay'd at length To blow the rude airs back, that mocked her baby-strength.
Ah: thus when Fortune's storms assail thy soul, Yield not, nor shrink! but bear thee bravely still Against their fury! With thine own sweet will And childlike faith, oppose their fierce control, So shalt thou bloom at last, my treasured flower, Unharm'd by tempest-shock, in Heaven's calm summer bower!