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Poem by Menella Bute Smedley

A Fancy

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.
The summer breeze was all her own,
The new-mown hay was sweet for her,
The birds sang in the very tone
They knew she would prefer.

Her thoughts are hardly thoughts at all,
So dream-like through her brain they flit;
Her little feet do rise and fall
Without her knowing it.
The spirit of the twilight eve,
Vague, beautiful, and purposeless,
Forbiddeth aught to vex or grieve,
And doth in silence bless.
She standeth by the brook, she sees
How smooth its roughest ripples are;
The leafy murmur of the trees
Makes melody afar.
A cloud can never mar the skies;
The sun can never rise again;
A thought of change would bring surprise,
And be a thought of pain.

Ah, child! the years that form thy past
Are redolent with joys of spring!
The coming years are coming fast;
Alas! what will they bring?
One hour is thine divinely dear,
Enjoy it for its priceless good;
'Tis when thy childhood is as near
As is thy womanhood!

Menella Bute Smedley

Menella Bute Smedley's other poems:
  1. The Singing Lesson
  2. The Rooks' Petition
  3. The Vow of Cortes
  4. The Sick Child
  5. The English Merchant and the Saracen Lady

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Edward Dyer A Fancy ("Hee that his mirth hath loste")
  • Ella Wilcox A Fancy ("Drop down the crimson curtains") 1871
  • Ina Coolbrith A Fancy ("I think I would not be")

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