She might have stepped out of a little book I used to treasure in a by-gone day: Judging from her shy smile, her wistful look She might have posed for dear Kate Greenaway To paint those little maids of Long Ago. Who made our childhood colorful and gay. Upon my heart's wide stage she gayly tripped. Dressed in a silken frock of pale shell-pink And right away her cool child fingers slipped Into my hand—she loved me too, I think. She might have been a fairy sitting there. Forming with distant yesterdays a link. And I, who should be reading wiser things, Drew from its shelf tonight a little book Ragged and thumbled with frequent handlings; Swiftly, with misty eyes, I stole a look At those loved figures of the painted page— And there was Phyllis playing by the brook! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THEY ACCUSE ME OF NOT TALKING by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON CARPACCIO'S PICTURE: THE DREAM OF ST. URSALA; SONNET by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: LILLI ALM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO THE PEACOCK OF FRANCE by MARIANNE MOORE DON JUAN'S SONG by ISAAC ROSENBERG |