ANSWER TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO ME BY PETER CLAY by EFFIE WALLER SMITH

Backward down the stream of time
My wandering mind now floats,
When I a hoyden country lass,
In homespun petticoats

That reached down to my ankles bare,
Ankles bare and brown, too;
Not browned by summer suns, for birth
Had giv'n to them that hue.

I think now of those days when hills
And vales with music rang,
Of which in crude, uneven,
Yet rhythmic, words, I sang.

And I'm thinking, poet friend,
How you have, oftentimes,
Admired with pure unselfishness
Those simple, homely rhymes.

For 'tis the genius of the soul
(Though underneath a skin
Of dusky hue its fire may burn)
Your unfeigned praises win.

Oh, that earth had more of beings
With generous minds like yours,
Who alike, true worth and honor
To the black and white secures.

'Accept, dear poet, then, my thanks
For your glowing words of praise,
For the simple, homely, faulty rhymes
Of my early girlhood days.

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