The President's Daughter (Britton)/Her Eyes

by Nanna Popham Britton

For works with similar titles, see Child's Eyes and Her Eyes.

Her Eyes

By Nan Britton

Sometimes her eyes are blue as deep sea-blue,And calm as waters stilled at evenfall.I see not quite my child in these blue eyes,But him whose soul shines wondrously through her.Serene and unafraid he was, and knewHow to dispel the fears in other hearts,Meeting an anxious gaze all tranquilly:These are her father's eyes.

Sometimes her eyes are blue—the azure blueOf an October sky on mountain-tops.I do not see my child in these blue eyes;They are the eyes of him whose spirit glowedWith happiness of soul alone which liesFar deeper than the depths of bluest eyes—Whose smile a thing of joy it was to see:These eyes, this smile, are his.

Sometimes her eyes are of a tired gray-blue,Filled with the sadness of an age-old world.And then again my child's not in these eyes;These are the eyes of one whom grief assailed,Whom disappointment crushed with its great weight.Around his head a halo memory casts,Reflecting that refiner's fire which purgedHim clean, and made him what he was.

Sometimes in child-amaze and wonder-blueHer baby eyes are lifted up to mine.These only are the eyes she brought with her.And so I fold her close within my armsAnd talk of dolls, and stars, and mother-love,For well I know that pitifully soonShe will be grown, and then her eyes will holdOnly the deeper lights—his own eyes knew! Reprinted by permission from
The New York Times