Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BIRTHDAY LINES TO AGNES BAILLIE, by JOANNA BAILLIE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Dear agnes, gleam'd with joy and dash'd with tears Last Line: Of such investment, eye had ne'er perceived. Subject(s): Birthdays | ||||||||
DEAR Agnes, gleam'd with joy and dash'd with tears, O'er us have glided almost sixty years Since we on Bothwell's bonny braes were seen, By those whose eyes long closed in death have been, Two tiny imps, who scarcely stoop'd to gather The slender hair-bell on the purple heather; No taller than the foxglove's spiky stem, That dew of morning studs with silvery gem. Then every butterfly that cross'd our view With joyful shout was greeted as it flew, And moth and lady-bird and beetle bright In sheeny gold were each a wondrous sight. Then as we paddled barefoot, side by side, Among the sunny shallows of the Clyde, Minnows or spotted paur with twinkling fin, Swimming in mazzy rings the pool within, A thrill of gladness through our bosom sent, Seen in the power of early wonderment. . . . 'T was thou who woo'dst me first to look Upon the page of printed book, That thing by me abhorred, and with address Didst win me from my thoughtless idleness, When all too old become with bootless haste In fitful sports the precious time to waste. Thy love of tale and story was the stroke At which my dormant fancy first awoke, And ghosts and witches in my busy brain Arose in sombre show, a motley train. This new-found path attempting, proud was I, Lurking approval on thy face to spy, Or hear thee say, as grew thy roused attention, "What! is this story all thine own invention!" Then, as advancing through this mortal span, Our intercourse with the mix'd world began, Thy fairer face and sprightlier courtesy, (A truth that from my youthful vanity Lay not concealed) did for the sisters twain, Where'er we went, the greater favour gain; While, but for thee, vex'd with its tossing tide, I from the busy world had shrunk aside. And how in later years, with better grace Thou help'st me still to hold a welcome place With those whom nearer neighbourhood has made The friendly cheerers of our evening shade. With thee my humours, whether grave or gay, Or gracious or untoward, have their way. Silent, if dull -- O precious privilege! I sit by thee; or if, cull'd from the page Of some huge, ponderous tome which, but thyself, None e'er had taken from its dusty shelf, Thou read me curious passages to speed The winter night, I take but little heed And thankless say, "I cannot listen now," 'T is no offence; albeit, much do I owe To these, thy nightly offerings of affection, Drawn from thy ready talent for selection; For still it seem'd in thee a natural gift The letter'd grain from letter'd chaff to sift. By daily use and circumstance endear'd, Things are of value now that once appear'd Of no account, and without notice past, Which o'er dull life a simple cheering cast; To hear thy morning steps the stair descending, Thy voice with other sounds domestic blending; After each stated nightly absence, met To see thee by the morning table set, Pouring from smoky spout the amber stream Which sends from saucered cup its fragrant steam, To see thee cheerly on the threshold stand, On summer morn, with trowel in thy hand For garden-work prepared; in winter's gloom From thy cold noon-day walk to see thee come, In furry garment lapt, with spatter'd feet, And by the fire resume thy wonted seat; Ay, even o'er things like these, soothed age has thrown A sober charm they did not always own, As winter hoar-frost makes minutest spray Of bush or hedge-weed sparkle to the day, In magnitude and beauty, which bereaved Of such investment, eye had ne'er perceived. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BIRTHDAY (AUTOBIOGRAPHY) by ROBINSON JEFFERS POEM FOR MY TWENTIETH BIRTHDAY by KENNETH KOCH A HAPPY BIRTHDAY by TED KOOSER FOR A SOLDIER'S BIRTHDAY by EVE MERRIAM PICTURE THIS:/ FOR THE 100TH BIRTHDAY OF QUEEN ELIZABETH THE QUEEN MOTHER by ANDREW MOTION POEM FOR MY BIRTHDAY by LISEL MUELLER A MOTHER TO HER WAKING INFANT by JOANNA BAILLIE |
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