When thin-strewn memory I look through, I see most clearly poor Miss Loo; Her tabby cat, her cage of birds, Her nose, her hair, her muffled words, And how she'd open her green eyes, As if in some immense surprise, Whenever as we sat at tea She made some small remark to me. It's always drowsy summer when From out the past she comes again; The westering sunshine in a pool Floats in her parlour still and cool; While the slim bird its lean wires shakes, As into piercing song it breaks; Till Peter's pale-green eyes ajar Dream, wake; wake, dream, in one brief bar. And I am sitting, dull and shy, And she with gaze of vacancy, And large hands folded on the tray, Musing the afternoon away; Her satin bosom heaving slow With sighs that softly ebb and flow, And her plain face in such dismay, It seems unkind to look her way: Until all cheerful back will come Her gentle gleaming spirit home: And one would think that poor Miss Loo Asked nothing else, if she had you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VOLUNTARIES by RALPH WALDO EMERSON SONNET: 110 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS by ALFRED TENNYSON DOVE RIVER ANTHOLOGY, BY OWN WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: LUCY GRAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE BELLS AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 30. CHRIST AND WOMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) ON MISS JESSY LEWARS by ROBERT BURNS |