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.