A QUAKER MAID

Just a pair of green-grey eyes, With a knack of changing Like the sea, when shine and shower O’er its breast are ranging. Just a pair of green-grey eyes Each one a heart-breaker, Who would think that they belonged To a little Quaker? Prim her bonnet, drab her gown, And she walks sedately, With a sort of lily-mien— Drooping, and yet stately. And her voice sounds, oh, so meek! “Thou” and “thee” and “thying,” Yet the while those grey-green eyes Seem to be belying. All these airs of calm repose,— This sad suit and sober, Why should Spring’s young sapling be Brown-leaved like October? Gown her in the lilies’ white! Crown her curls with roses! Wreath her neck with daisy-chains! Fill her hands with posies! Laughter-loving green-grey eyes, Young limbs girt with gladness, How they mock this dismal drab Livery of sadness!