Miss Lintlocks.
34
There are shimmering waves of greenest grass,
There's a soft wind from the south,
She surveys the skies with pensive eyes
And her pink toes in her mouth.
There's a soft wind from the south,
She surveys the skies with pensive eyes
And her pink toes in her mouth.
Miss Lintlocks knows what the flowers think,
She hears what the dust-motes say
As they spin and dance in the golden lance
That strikes through the shining day;
She hears what the dust-motes say
As they spin and dance in the golden lance
That strikes through the shining day;
And the swinging leaves and the rosy halls
Of the oleander tree—
They flutler near to her little ear
And murmur drowsily.
Of the oleander tree—
They flutler near to her little ear
And murmur drowsily.
Miss Lintlocks sways, like a blossom bowed
With a heartful of silver dew,
And her song grows dim, and a fringed rim
Sinks over her eyes' soft blue;
With a heartful of silver dew,
And her song grows dim, and a fringed rim
Sinks over her eyes' soft blue;
And the dimpled foot and the tinted toes
Have slipped from her loosened hold,
And lie like fair rose-petals there
Across the green and gold.
Have slipped from her loosened hold,
And lie like fair rose-petals there
Across the green and gold.
