PRISCILLA in the garret loft Of rare old silks and velvets soft A heap espying, -- Forgotten hues of a by-gone day! -- The little maid in deft array Carefully folds and lays away With envious sighing. Did they some rustic beauty grace, A comely form and winsome face, With footsteps flying? Or does she sigh because a bride They once adorned; now cast aside, Left in the garret there to hide, The dust defying? Perchance her great-grandmother wore Them hundred years ago and more -- Priscilla's crying! "Come little maid, why this despair? What makes those big tears standing there?" "Ah, sir! because they will not bear Another dyeing." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY EXCELLENT LUCASIA, ON OUR FRIENDSHIP. 17TH JULY 1651 by KATHERINE PHILIPS THE FOURTH OF JULY by JOHN PIERPONT COR CORDIUM by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE DEJECTION by GRACE E. ALBRIGHT THE VIOLIN'S ENCHANTRESS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |