Marjorie Daw

ONCE on a time, a cunning artist drew
A picture, so divinely fair
That each beholder’s wonder grew and grew,
Beholding loveliness so rare.
And while we waited, with expectant hush,
To see the crowning light laid on,
One sweep the painter gave with lifted brush,
And all the marvel seemed undone.
But only seemed, for, through our summers must
That fairy-freighted hammock swing
To measured cadence of the sea, that just
One rhythmic name is murmuring.
And from a gable-window looking down,
Forever wistful eyes shall view
The dainty foot, and shadowy eyes, and gown
Of gauze, diaphanous and blue.
And summer moons must ever softly touch
Each golden coil upon that head;
For we, her lovers, will not yield so much
As one pale, silken, shining thread.
For, having once bestowed this wondrous gift,
The hand that gave may not withdraw ;
So long as light shall change and shadows shift,
So long shall live rare Marjorie Daw.
Eunice E. Comstock.