Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/297

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THE BLIND GIRL'S LAMENT.
279
My father, when our fortune smiled,
With jewels decked his eyeless child,
Their glittering worth the world might see,
But ah! they had no charms for me.
A trickling tear bedewed my arm—
I felt it—and my heart was warm,
And sure to me the gem most dear
Was a kind father's pitying tear.

The Blind Girl's Lament.
It is not that I cannot see
 The birds and flowers of spring;
'Tis not that beauty seems to me
 A dreamy, unknown thing;—

It is not that I cannot mark
 The blue and star-set sky;
Nor ocean's foam, nor mountain's peak—
 That thus I weep and sigh.

They tell me that the birds, whose notes
 Fall full upon mine ear,
Are not all beautiful to sight,
 Though sweet their songs to hear.

They tell me that the gayest flowers
 Which sunshine ever brings,
Are not the ones I know so well,
 But strange and scentless things.

My little brother leads me forth
 To where the violets grow;
Hus gentle, light, yet careful step
 And tiny hand I know.

My mother's voice is soft and sweet,
 Like music on my ear;
The very atmosphere seems love
 When these to me are near.

My father twines his arms around,
 And draws me to his breast,
To kiss the poor, blind, helpless girl
 He says he loves the best.

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