My Lady rises with the day, The Morning runs to greet her; But vexed Diana flies away— The Maid is so much sweeter! Down flowered paths My Lady trips On trimmest feet and slender, Her gown held up by finger tips Like roses, pink and tender. She lifts her skirts so prettily And shows such ankles, truly, I long to comment wittily And praise perhaps unduly. With laughter in her wooing voice She sings, and all around her The song birds of the Dawn rejoice Because, at last, they 've found her. Where'er she treads the grasses bow Devotedly before her With gifts of jeweled dew—I trow She has one more adorer! The blossoms are old-fashioned—yes, And she the rarest of them. She plucks them, and—I must confess Because they 're hers I love them. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE COMING OF SNOW by HAYDEN CARRUTH UNTITLED, 1968; FOR MARK ROTHKO by JAMES GALVIN GOSSAMER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PROVING by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON YOU ARE FIRE EATERS by MARIANNE MOORE |