THE morn is hanging her fire-fringed veil, Made of the mist, o'er the walnut boughs, And Barbara, with her cedar pail, Comes to the meadow to call the cows. "The little people that live in the air Are not for my human hands to wrong," Says Barbara, and her loving prayer Takes them up as it goes along. Gay sings the miller, and Barbara's mouth Purses with echoes it will not repeat, And the rose on her cheek hath a May-day's growth In the line with the ending, "I love you, sweet." Yonder the mill is, small and white, Hung like a vapor among the rocks -- Good spirits say to her morn and night, "Barbara, Barbara! stay with your flocks." Stay for the treasures you have to keep, Cherish the love that you know is true; Though stars should shine in the tears you weep, They never would come out of heaven to you. And were you to follow the violet veins Over the hills -- to the ends of the earth, Barbara, what would you get for your pains, More than your true-love's love is worth? So, never a thought about braver mills, Of prouder lovers your dreaming cease; A world is shut in among these hills -- Stay in it, Barbara, stay, for your peace! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 15 by CONRAD AIKEN POSSUM SONG (A WARNING) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON BOOKER T. WASHINGTON by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WE'LL GO NO MORE THE WOODLAND WAY by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE CHANGE UPON CHANGE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE EXILE'S RETURN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING BALAUSTION'S ADVENTURE: PART 1 by ROBERT BROWNING FOUR EPISTLES: MIRACLE AT THE FEAST OF PENTECOST: 2 by JOHN BYROM |