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Poem by Marion Angus
The Silver City
Yonder she sits beside the tranquil Dee, Kindly yet cold, respectable and wise, Sharp-tongued though civil, with wide-open eyes, Dreaming of hills, yet urgent for the sea; And still and on, she has her vanity, Wears her grey mantle with a certain grace, While sometimes there are roses on her face To sweeten too austere simplicity. She never taught her children fairy-lore, Yet they must go a-seeking crocks of gold Afar throughout the earth; And when their treasure in her lap they pour, Her hands upon her knee do primly fold; She smiles complacent that she gave them birth.
Marion Angus's other poems:
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