THE glowing tints of a tropic eve, Burn on her radiant cheek, And we know that her voice is rich and low, Though we never have heard her speak; So full are those gracious eyes of light, That the blissful flood runs o'er, And wherever her tranquil pathway tends A glory flits on before! O! very grand are the city belles, Of a brilliant and stately mien, As they walk the steps of the languid dance, And flirt in the pauses between; But beneath the boughs of the hoary oak, When the minstrel fountains play, I think that the artless village girl Is sweeter by far than they. O! very grand are the city belles, But their hearts are worn away By the keen-edged world, and their lives have lost The beauty and mirth of May; They move where the sun and the starry dews Reign not; they are haughty and bold, And they do not shrink from the cursed mart, Where faith is the slave of gold. But the starry dews and the genial sun Have gladdened @3her@1 guileless youth; And her brow is bright with the flush of hope, Her soul with the seal of truth; Her steps are beautiful on the hills As the steps of an Orient morn, And Ruth was never more fair to see In the midst of the autumn corn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ILLINOIS FARMER by CARL SANDBURG SCORN NOT THE LEAST by ROBERT SOUTHWELL A MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY by HENRY VAN DYKE THE BARTHOLDI STATUE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE MEETING by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER I HAVE A GARMENT by ABRAHAM IBN EZRA |