Teresa by Clinton Scollard

Teresa

Down the garden pathway singing.

Comes a lithesome form I know;

Fleet bright butterflies are winging

To and fro

On the hillsides where the ox-eyed daisies

grow.

Round her flutter thrush and sparrow,

Warbling joyous, unafraid,

And sly Cupid with his arrow

'Neath the shade

Of the rose-tree lurks to greet the laughing

maid.

Should he find her there, the charmer,

With his bended bow and dart,

Pierce the never-shattered armor

Round her heart,

Evermore my tongue would bless his subtle

art.

See! she wanders where the roses,

Jealous, hide her from my view;

Now an opening fair discloses

The soft hue

Of her flitting fleecy garments, skyey blue.

Ah, she pauses! but 't is only

By a rose-tree climbing high,

There to pluck a blossom lonely.

Is he by?

Is the love-compelling goddess' son a-nigh?

Who can tell? for on she strayeth

Toward an arbor cool and green,

There a splashing fountain playeth

Soft, serene,

And beyond in golden wheat-fields reapers

glean.

Here, amid the vines entwining,

Sits she as the moments pass,

While I gaze with sad repining

At the mass

Of the shining clouds, sun-smit like burnished

brass.

Still I wait, my soul a-quiver,

Till she comes ah, fate be kind!

To my heart a joyous giver,

Where enshrined

Love will hide beyond the power of ill to find;

Or as calm and cold and stately

As a statue, marble-born,

Passing with white face sedately,

Not in scorn,

Yet to show me how my hopes are all forlorn.

Now the hanging vines are parted

And I see her draw a-near.

Will she leave me broken hearted?

Vanish, Fear!

In thine eyes I read my answer, thou most

dear!