MIRIAM.

White clouds and buds and birds and bees,

Low wind-notes piped from southern seas,

Brought thee a rose-white offering,

A flower-like baby with the Spring.

She, as her April, gave to thee

A soul of winsome vagary;

Large, heavenly eyes, and tender, whence

Shone the sweet mind's soft influence;

Where all the winning woman, that

Welled up in tears, high sparkling sat.

She, with the dower of her May,

Gave thee a nature that could sway

Wild men with kindness, and a pride

Which all their littleness denied.

Limbs wrought of lilies and a face

Bright as a rose flower's, and a grace,

God-taught, that clings like happiness

In each chaste billow of thy dress.

She, as her heavy June, brought down

Night deeps of hair thy brow to crown;

A voice so mild and musical

It is as water-notes that fall

O'er bars of pearl, and in thy heart

Stamped like a jewel, that should start

From thy pure face in smiles, and break

Like radiance when it laughed or spake,

Affection that is born of truth

And goodness which make very youth.