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TO A PLAIN SWEETHEART
By T. A. Daly
I love thee, dear, for what thou art,
Nor would I wish thee otherwise,
For when thy lashes lift apart
I read, deep-mirrored in thine eyes,
The glory of a modest heart.
Wert thou as fair as thou art good,
It were not given to any man,
With daring eyes of flesh and blood,
To look thee in the face and scan
The splendor of thy womanhood.
TO A ROBIN
By T. A. Daly
I heard thee, joyous votary,
Pour forth thy heart in one
Sweet simple strain of melody
To greet the rising sun,
When he across the morning's verge his first faint flare had flung
And found the crimson of thy breast the whisp'ring leaves among,
In thine own tree
Which sheltered thee,
Thy mate, thy nest, thy young.
