MY WOODLAND PRINCESS

WHAT if we met in an old log-road
Where the leaf-mold clung to her small bare heels,
And instead of woodland flowers, her load
Was a string of trout and silver eels?

Her gown was ragged and limp with dew,
But it rounded a pair of splendid hips.
A rich red torrent was flashing through
Her startled pulses to cheeks and lips.

The wholesome bronze of her ruddy face
Was like ripe fruit in a bower of green,
And she walked the wold with the easy grace
And firm, free step of a woodland queen.

The dew had moistened the jetty hair
That waved and clustered about her head
I caught a glimpse of the shoulders bare,
The sparkling eyes and the lips of red.

Only a glimpse of the tattered gown,
As she disappeared in the leafy way.
A glance of the shoulders plump and brown,
And a face—that haunted me night and day.

And I wandered on by the yeasty stream
To try for the trout that would not rise,
For I walked all day in a misty dream
Of lips, and shoulders, and curls and eyes.

And I thought of a damsel, city bred,
Of narrow shoulders and doubtful spine,
With false hair frizzed on the trifling head,
And false life, beveled by rule and line.

Unskilled, unheeding in wifely cares,
Expensive, vapory, worthless: when
The mother half hates the child she bears,
Where shall we go for the nation's men?

I take the lot that the fates decree,
And my fancies fail me, one by one,
But often in dreams again I see
The Woodland Princess of Cedar Run.