Menella Bute Smedley Poems

There was a little maiden,
She was not six years old;
Blue were her eyes as summer skies,
Her hair like burnish'd gold;
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Two children are lost in a wood,
What can they do? what can they do?
They have not a morsel of food,
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The moon is in the sky, and the stars are shining too,
The summer-night is calm, and the sea is very blue;
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Out of a tomb the world's hope went of old,
While angels shone around, Force shrank away,
And weeping Love, eternally consoled,
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In the hand—fluttering fearfully—
Lonely and helpless,—poor little thing!
In the bush—peeping out cheerfully,
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Forget-me-nots grow by the stream,
Their blue eyes look up to the skies;
I think I have seen in a dream
As blue and as beautiful eyes!
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Out of the Past there has come a Face;
Wherefore I do not know;
I did not call it from its place,
I cannot make it go;
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She placed the pitcher on her head,
With idle steps the way she took
Across the pleasant field that led
Down to the happy brook.
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It was an April morning
When my true love went out;
The wind had never a warning;
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Where were you when I suffered? My heart was very faint;
It wanted a heart to lean on; where was yours at the time?
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